


Once A Wraith: Trouble Comes In Pairs

by adeclanfan



Series: OnceAWraith!verse [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Feels, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, NaNoWriMo, Past Sexual Abuse, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27680299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adeclanfan/pseuds/adeclanfan
Summary: Out for a night of fun at the arcade, Wraith Squadron stumbles across a pilot they just can't seem to beat in the arcade sims. Curious, they decide to follow and investigate. The Wraiths turn an enemy into something more complicated. War isn't black and white. Not all Imperials are assholes, but many are.
Relationships: Garik "Face" Loran/Dia Passik, Mara Jade/Luke Skywalker, Tycho Celchu/Winter Celchu, Tyria Sarkin/Kell Tainer, Wedge Antilles & Tycho Celchu & Wes Janson, Wedge Antilles/Tycho Celchu/Winter Celchu, Wes Janson/Tycho Celchu/Winter Celchu
Series: OnceAWraith!verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023847
Kudos: 4





	1. Prologue - Found

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the events of Isard's Revenge. Romance, and sex in later chapters. Polyamorous relationships. Angst. 
> 
> This was originally a story I tried to write in 2013, but it never got off the ground. I had loads of research and notes from back then, and to be honest, I'm a much better writer than I was, so I took the research and started from scratch for NANOWRIMO 2020.
> 
> Very excited for the Luke/Mara chapter - Mara opens up about what life was like as a teenage Emperor's Hand in training.

"Lead?"

"Yeah, nine," Tycho said."Can we get the rescue shuttle over here? I feel… something. It's faint, but I think one of the Imps is alive in this wreckage."  
  
The commander of Rogue Squadron keyed for the rescue shuttle, "On it."  
  
The comm crackled and Wes Janson grumbled, "Poor bastard."  
  
"Shut it, Five," Tycho snapped.  
  
"Yes, sir."

He didn't think the Rogue was being flippant about an enemy pilot, more likely Wes was reliving his own recent experience with vacuum at Distna. The Colonel shuddered himself at the reminder of that battle. Poor bastard was probably about right.  
  
A message from his astromech scrolled across the screen. "Shuttle is on it's way, Nine. Can you and Ten stay with them?"  
  
"Not a problem, Lead."  
  
"See you back at the ship for the debriefing."  
  
There was a double click of acknowledgement, and Tycho led the rest of the Rogues back to the Mon Cal capitol ship which served as their home for the last two weeks while they hunted this important Imperial weapons convoy.  


<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>

  
"How's Gavin doing?"  
  
Wes looked up from his datapad as Hobbie strode into the medical bay. "Concussed. Broken jaw. Nothing a few days in bacta can't fix, thank the Force."  
  
"Oh, whoa," Hobbie gasped. "Wow. Where did we get her?" He gestured to the bacta tank directly next to Gavin's where a woman with straight black hair in a short pony tail floated with her neck and upper torso swathed in a mass of stabilizing bandages.  
  
Wes crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his best friend and the bacta tank in turns, before finally grumbling, "That is the TIE pilot Corran scooped out of the vacuum."   
  
"When did the Empire start recruiting children? She looks hot and twelve. Ick."  
  
"I'm sure she's older than she looks, but still…" Janson elbowed his friend on the ribs, "Quit leering at her like that, it's kinda creepy and just plain wrong."  
  
"I'm not leering, I was thinking they sell handmade dolls at a shop in my hometown that look like her."  
  
"Tinted with Bacta?"  
  
Hobbie shook his head, "Pretty, but in an eerie way that is almost too perfect to be real." He turned his head, looking at Wes. 

Wes moved to lean again the wall, as far from the tanks as the space would allow. "Based on where the shuttle picked them both up, Tycho thinks this must be the pilot who went after Gavin. Says he saw the blur in his peripheral vision and manage to get a single shot off and just barely clipped the eyeball before it was on Gavin's X-Wing. Does she have to be in this bacta tank? Can't they put her in another room or something, so we don't have to look at her?"

"I know, right. If she isn't conscious for you to hit on, it's not fair to have to see her mostly undressed except for the hundred meters of bandages covering nearly half her body," Hobbie teased him.

Wes scowled at him. "Don't joke. It's not funny. I would never hit on HER. She's an IMP, and she almost killed Gavin. I wish they would get her out of here."

Hobbie's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he called his best friend on it, "I imagine the Imp will feel the same when she wakes to find she's been floating in a sports bra and girly boxer shorts in a room filled with the Rogues who just killed the other pilots in her squadron."

"What in the name of the Force is going on here?" Tycho hissed at them from the doorway. "Why are you two yelling at each other?"

Wes hadn't realized their voices were raised.

"Sorry, boss," Hobbie rumbled. "It seems Wes doesn't want a filthy TIE pilot, whom we just saved from certain death in cold, airless space to float in the tube next to Gavin."

Tycho surveyed the medical suite with it's three tanks, two of which were occupied. Then, he turned to Janson, "They're unconscious, Wes. I don't think that pilot is a threat to Gavin at this point." 

Wes opened his mouth to say something they all knew would be insubordinate, but a shrill warning alarm came from the TIE pilot's tank. 

As one, they turned to look at the tank in surprise, eyes wide and mouths dropped open.

"The alarm and the flashing red lines mean her heart has stopped," Wes told them. He walked over to the tank's control panel and peered down at the controls. He pressed a series of buttons and the flashing red lights went solid red and then green.

A hand grabbed his arm, and Tycho dragged him away from the tank controls. "What did you just do, Major?" His tone was shocked and furious.

"I just saved her damn life, is what I did," Wes huffed sourly, irritated and hurt by the accusation in the other man's tone. "Please. Give me some credit. I wouldn't just kill her. I've sat beside these kriffing tanks enough to know how the medics give a jolt to restart a person's heart if it stops."

Tycho turned to peer closely at the readouts on the control panel, and once he seemed reassured the kid was alive, the words Wes had said finally sunk in. He met Wes' eyes with a look of pity. "I'm sorry. I overreacted. Have you had to do something like this before?"

Wes threw a annoyed look at Hobbie and grumbled, "Yeah. Once."

  
Hobbie realized what Wes was saying and muttered, "Sithspit."  
  
"I don't think you need to worry about that TIE pilot contaminating the bacta supply, or making this room have evil vibes," Hobbie told Wes, solemnly. "At this rate, the kid probably won't last the night."  
  
Hobbie's rebuke made him feel a bit guilty. All best friends were TIE pilots before they defected, but this woman wasn't a defector and Wes didn't imagine he would ever see past the harm she'd done to Gavin. Wes grunted a reply and left them with Gavin to go find the MD droid.

Then, Janson decided he really needed to find something strong to drink, or he wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight. And if he did sleep, no doubt his dreams would be plagued with memories Distna and the indescribable cold, pain and fear. 

Now, with his luck, dolls floating alone and broken in the blackness of space. 

<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>

Emerie Santhe opened her dry mouth and licked at chapped lips. Her voice quavered unsteadily when she finally managed to whisper, "Where… where am I?"  
  
The medic's head snapped up from her datapad with a start at the sound of her voice. Intense dark eyes swung in her direction. The woman approached her bedside slowly, almost hesitantly. They just looked at each for a while before she answered, "You were injured in a battle. Our people brought you into the recovery shuttle before the exposure could kill you." Her voice was soothing and low. "You spent a few days in a bacta tank aboard a New Republic medical frigate, which delivered you here to Coruscant yesterday."  
  
"Imperial Center?" Relief flooded her. The planet was like her second home. Her family had a lush apartment here for vacations and their business dealings, and she knew the best medical care in the Galaxy could be found here.  
  
The corner of the medic's mouth twitched. "That is what the Emperor called Coruscant until he died and the planet fell."  
  
"To the rebels," Emerie added.  
  
"To the New Republic," the silvery blonde woman corrected her. "You'll draw unwanted attention to yourself if you can't adjust to the change of designation." Her tone was brusque like a teacher's when correcting a pupil. Her accent was hard to place with the musical roll to the syllables.  
  
"How do I know I'm not in a coma?"  
  
A small crease formed between the medic's pale brows. "What would make you doubt you're conscious?"  
  
"I could be dead and in purgatory. I can't move or feel anything from my neck down. With this much damage, I should be in terrible pain and the fact that I'm not is... bad. And, I've obviously taken a blow or two to the head given the headache and foggy, disconnected feeling." She took a deep breath, in through her nose and out through her mouth. "I must be dreaming or hallucinating, I mean there just aren't any women who are real and as beautiful as you. None I've ever seen." She winced at the confession, not sure why she said that.  
  
This surprised a laugh from the woman, a pleasant youthful sound. "Do all hotshot fighter pilots get lessons in flirting I don't know about?"  
  
Someone snorted. A male, somewhere in this room with them, but Emerie hadn't seen anyone else in the room. The man stepped forward from a shadowy corner, just out of her line of vision, and the young pilot felt her blood go icy cold.  
  
"You recognize me." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.  
  
Emerie did recognize him all right, from their briefings on the pilots of Rogue Squadron. The blood was rushing in her ears, making her headache worse.  
  


"Stop that," the woman told her, sternly. "Breathe or you are going to set off monitor alarms all over this floor."

  
Licking her lips to wet them, Emerie said, "Rogue."  
  
"Yes, I'm Colonel Tycho Celchu. CO of Rogue Squadron," he introduced himself and nodded to the woman. "And I can attest to the fact that the beautiful woman is very much real. Her name is Winter."  
  
Her eyes were drawn back to the woman in the scrubs. "Not a medic," Emerie surmised aloud.  
  
"No. I have medical training, but I'm not here in a medical capacity."  
  
Emerie winced, fuzzy thoughts prickly with fear. "I supposed this is an interrogation then. These drugs ARE  
really very good… I'm actively trying not to look at you and yet my eyes seem to have a mind of their own."  
  
The Rogue Colonel shot the woman smirk and got a glare in return.  
  
To Emerie, she said, "To be completely honest, I felt very much the same attraction to you when they brought you in and asked me to watch over you. The Colonel will attest I didn't administer any sort of drugs. You can't feel anything or move because there is a spinal block in place. It's to keep you from further injury."

"How bad is it?" Emerie asked, not really wanting to know. 

The woman's expression became carefully blank. With a sigh, she answered, "I didn't expect you to wake before they operate. You were scheduled for surgery in an hour, your third surgery I might add, but we pushed it back so your sister could catch a transport and be here with you. Your condition is stable, but the wounds to your collarbone and shoulder are... grave. Your heart has stopped twice, once during the second procedure and once days earlier while you were in the bacta tank. I thought having your sister here with you might give you more reason to hang on. And as for an interrogation drug… something like that would very likely kill you as soon as it was injected."  
  
"If they are going to amputate my arm…" the young woman's voice cracked. "I would rather DIE than never be able to fly again."  
  
"An amputation does not automatically mean you'll lose the ability to fly," Winter assured her.  
  
Emerie flared with temper, "I'll never get the full range of motion with a prosthetic arm."  
  
"Artificial limbs…"  
  
The Colonel spoke up, "No, the kid is right. We went through this with Derek Klivian. He was told a hand or forearm would not mean the end of his career, but if they had to take the arm at the shoulder, he was done for."  
  
"Were there other survivors?"  
  
"No."  
  
Emerie hadn't expected there to be others, not if their convoy been attacked by Rogue Squadron. "Did we take any of you with us?"  
  
"No. I had one pilot spend a few days in a bacta dunk, though. If I hadn't noticed you closing on Gavin from above, and clipped your fighter, he'd have been dead. Where did you get your training?"

"Here and there."

Celchu smirked, "I would put money that here is some junior pilot program at Royal Academy and there is Skystrike. Lethal combination."  
  
Emerie turned her head to stare him down, fear gone replaced by anger. "You should finish what you started and kill me."  
  
"That's not how I do things. Our fight is over," Celchu told her firmly. "Murder is not how the New Republic handles enemy combatants."  
  
"So, if I live, I'm in for interrogations followed by imprisonment?"  
  
It was Winter who spoke this time. "No. We debrief TIE pilots, of course, but then we either trade them back to the Empire or we release them."  
  
The man nodded his agreement, "After a lecture or three on the evils of the Empire, and if they are good, an offer of something better here with us…"  
  
Emerie growled. "I would rather die."  
  
"How can you say that? You're only seventeen," Winter stated. "Your life has just begun."

Emerie scowled at her. "I wouldn’t expect you to understand. He might, though. I think I read you were a graduate of the Imperial Academy." She huffed, frustrated by the inability to move. "Do you have my datapad? Did it survive the vacuum?"  
  
"I have it," Winter assured her, pulling it from her thigh pocket. "I can't get past the non-standard incrypt, though. Where did you get this?"  
  
Emerie smirked. "It's set to retina scan."  
  
"Datapads that small don't come equipped with retina scan capability," Celchu said.  
  
"Yours don't? Too bad for you. Mine does."  
  
The woman rolled her eyes at their snarky interaction. "Is there something you want me to see, Emerie?"  
  
"Him," she grunted, gesturing with her chin. "My last incoming message. The scanner is on the left edge near the top corner."  
  
Winter held the datapad for her, holding it near her eye for the scanner to do it's work, and then searching the contents for the correct file. Once she had it, there was a pause while she read and her face paled. "Oh, no." She handed it to the Colonel, so he could read Emerie's orders, too.  
  
"Congratulations on the promotion to Lieutenant, that's something of an anomaly given your youth. And the transfer to… Kriff me." He looked up at her in shock. "The 181st."  
  
Emerie wrinkled her nose. "If I'm being offered a choice, I'd rather kriff her." Under her breath, she muttered, "Stupid drugs."  
  
Winter groaned and scrubbed a hand over her eyes. "Why did I dare to hope a female pilot would be different from the obnoxious male ones?"  
  
"I can do things for you a guy can't even comprehend…" Emerie offered.  
  
Winter grinned at her, shaking her head in disbelief, but genuinely amused. "My girlfriend has said the same thing many times, and she backs it up."

"These orders are time stamped two days before we found the convoy."

Emerie winced, eyes shining with unshed tears. "So kriffing close. My bags were packed and the shuttle to take me to the 181's HQ was coming for me as soon as I got back from the escort run." 

At his expression, she grumbled, "The last thing I need is Rogue pity."

"This is not pity, kid, it's grudging respect. I do understand what kind of work it took you to get to this point in your career. I only hope... you weren't forced to show any commander just how far you were willing to go to 'prove' how much you want it."

When Winter looked surprised, Colonel Celchu shrugged and Emerie thought even he managed to look uncomfortable when the woman's eyes tried to bore through him. "What do you mean?"

"He means did I have any commanders who couldn't see past the fact I'm young, attractive and eager enough to get a slot in their squadron to literally do anything. Someone who held their power over me to get what they wanted from me. Yes. One. How many did you have?"

Colonel Celchu studied his boots, and Emerie knew he'd had a similar experience, probably with his first commander, too. It didn't just happen to females. Celchu was a handsome man, and he would have been very pretty youth. 

"Is she saying what I think she's saying, Sel?"

He looked at the blonde woman, and nodding grimly. "Yeah. One."

"It's sex. It doesn't mean anything," Emerie told her.

Winter gave her a horrified look, shaking her head. "I promise you would feel differently, if you were intimate with someone who cared about you."

"Maybe, maybe not." Emerie changed the subject. "Flying is my life. Everything I have dreamed of since I was a small child. If I lose my shot at being ranked with the best pilots in the galaxy, I'm left with nothing to show for all my hard work." A single tear slipped down her cheek, and her cheeks burned with humiliation. She wasn't trying to gain sympathy, but wanting them to understand the price she'd been willing to pay. 

Emerie desperately wished to wake from this nightmare and have her life back. "I'd do it all over again, and not change anything, until... this."  
  
"I understand." Celchu tapped her datapad with a finger. "Can I show this to the surgeon? If they know the stakes, perhaps they can save your arm."  
  
"We will talk to him," Winter reassured her.  
  
Emerie sighed, relieved. "You can have the datapad. I don't keep anything important on it. I can get another." 

For a long while she lay there is silence, her focus on breathing and making peace with the possibility of dying today.

"Emerie?" A young, dark haired woman rushed into the room and skidded to a halt at her beside, completely ignoring the two other people in the room.

"Is that really you, Ava?"

"I'm here, Em, I won't let you go through this alone." Then, she looked up and finally acknowledged the other two people at Emerie's bedside. "I'm Averie Santhe. I'm Emerie's sister. Thank you for bringing me here."

<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>

  
"What are the odds on someone having an identical twin?" Tycho scrubbed his hands over his face. 

"Luke and Leia are twins and look nothing alike," Winter shrugged, and gave him a look an amused smirk. "Identical twins are uncommon, but not impossible, apparently."  
  
They shared a smile and he took her hand to kiss her knuckles. "I made the medics put up a privacy screen in front of her tank when I overheard the Rogues making wagers on if her legs were really that long or if it was a trick of the transparesteel and bacta."  
  
"Ah ha ha. Flyboy perverts. You heard her yourself. Emerie would rather kriff me."  
  
Tycho smiled suggestively at his lover. "I would like to kriff you, too."

Winter raised an eyebrow, "Now?"

"I can wait until we get back to our apartment."

"I'll make it worth your wait," she assured him.

"You have to admit, the kid has determination and excellent taste in women."  
  
"A dangerous combination." She gave him a sidelong glance as they walked the corridor. "You never told me. And here I thought I had uncovered all your deepest, darkest secrets long ago."

Tycho shrugged his shoulders. "I've never told anyone," he admitted. "Who wants to admit to letting a superior bully them into bed?" 

"It's not your fault, Sel. It's coercion and the worst kind of gross abuse of authority. Not to mention the man was just plain evil."

Tycho nodded, "I agree, but at the time I was just as young and just as willing as Emerie to give anything to get into my first squadron. Looking back, it's all the things we've come to loathe about the Empire. Misuse of power. Humiliation. Degradation. "

"My heart was breaking for her. I wanted to hold her and tell her everything is going to work out... even if I can't make that sort of promise given the extent of her injuries."

"Despite the painkiller induced flirting, I don't think the kid would have let you," he told her, enfolding his fiancee in his arms. "Tell me something. Why does the surname Santhe ring a bell with me?" He asked, chin resting on her shoulder.  
  
Winter turned her head and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You've no doubt heard of Santhe Sienar Fleet Systems out of Lianna, an Outer Rim world known for producing all manner of ships like Z95 Headhunters and TIE Interceptors."  
  
Tycho whistled. "Damn. What did you learn about the girls from her datapad and the quick search I saw you running?"  
  
"Averie is currently a highly successful test pilot for Santhe Sienar. Emerie started life as a test pilot, too. Though, you were dead on with your guess of a youth pilot program at Royal Academy on Coruscant, and then polishing at Skystrike."  
  
"Is NRI going to want to recruit them? KId's got to be one hell of a pilot. I can't imagine getting a slot in the 181st at seventeen. Must have taken enumerable hours of simulations, plus proving herself with actual battle experience. I don't really think I want to face her in a battle someday to find out exactly how good she is."

They let go of each other and started walking. "I've heard you say there is always someone younger and faster who comes along," Winter said, thoughtfully.  
  
"Yes," he agreed, "and there is my proof right there. I guess I should have added more attractive, too." He flushed guiltily. "I'm not comfortable being attracted to a teen. And a pair of teens is worse."  
  
"Don't feel too bad, they're only a few months from eighteen. Age of consent on most worlds in the New Republic is sixteen."  
  
"Did I tell you Janson has a big problem with her?"  
  
"Wes not falling all over an attractive woman? That's not like him, at all."  
  
"It's partially her being the enemy pilot who injured Gavin, but I have a feeling it also has to do with Distna. Emerie's being EV and sole survivor of her squadron scored a direct hit in a vulnerable spot on Wes. He doesn't want to like her or feel protective of her, but he can't help himself. You should have seen his face when the heart rate alarm went off. He got defensive and surly, but you could just see how relieved he was when the jolt he gave her got her heart started back up. If she'd died, I think it would have hit him hard and maybe set him back in dealing with his post traumatic stress."  
  
Winter frowned. "Do you think it will be a problem?"

"Doubtful. I'd like her to pull through this surgery, and to recover from this. It's likely we will never see her again after today." 

His lover smiled, "If we do, I'm going to ask her out to dinner."

"And back to our place for dessert?"

"Possibly."

"Count me in."

They found the chief surgeon preparing for the operation and made the case for the injured pilot. The man wouldn't commit to more than saying he would try to save the young woman's arm, if he could. It had to be enough for them. 

Time would tell if it would be enough for Emerie.  



	2. Blue

Kell pulled off his helmet, grumbling, "Ugh. Not again. I'm just done." 

Elassar nodded, "Whoever that pilot is, I hate them."

"Seriously," Tyria agreed through gritted teeth. "If I wanted to be vaped in TIE sims, I could just go back to base. I bet the Rogues would be happy to do it. For free." 

Face listened to his pilots complain as they exited the sim pods, nodding sympathetically and offering comfort to his fallen comrades where he could. He'd been the second to last to fall to the mystery hotshot this last round, so he felt their pain. 

A large, open warehouse space held the eight simulator pods, four TIE fighters and four X-Wings, which took up most of Darkmatter Alley's second floor. At the far end, two dozen theater seats formed a spectators' gallery where people could sit and watch the battle's progress on huge holo-monitors and make bets.

The simulator pods were entertainment quality only and nothing like the sim pods used for training back on base, but they were still fun for some night off rec time. And the Wraiths expected to sweep in and easily beat all challengers. No one expected to be annihilated three rounds in a row by a rank amateur. 

The humiliation rankled. 

"If I hadn't seen a skinny stick of a kid with black and blue hair go in, I'd swear Colonel Celchu was here pranking us tonight," Kell said.

"We should search the last pod," Elassar suggested. 

Just as the seven Wraiths started to coalesce into an angry mob to pull the pilot from the pod, the last TIE simulator's hatch popped open and a lanky girl leapt down. She wore a matte black jumpsuit that made her appear to be all long arms and legs. Straight, jaw length black hair was tipped in bright blue that matched the color of her eyes as she surveyed them cooly. 

Straightening her shoulders, the teen sashayed her way past the gawking crowd of Wraiths with a smug, self-satisfied grin. "Dead dead dead dead dead dead, and kinda cute (this directed at Tyria Sarkin with a saucy wink). Pity... you aren't terrible in a TIE, but you are also dead," she mocked them in a pleasant sing-song, not stopping. 

"Oh, Sithspit. That's HER," Tyria whispered urgently to Kell. "I knew there was a reason I had to come here tonight."

Kell asked, "Her? Her, who?" 

"You remember the monkey-lizard doll I gave Wes ages ago after the Sabacc tourney? The one I though was their pilot?"

"Her? That kid?" Kell repeated. "If she's eighteen, I'm a Hutt."

Tyria shivered, rubbing at the goosebumps on her arms. 

"What is it, 'Ria?"

Tyria met Kell's eyes, her expression puzzled and sad. "Wow. Despite the smile, I get the feeling she really HATES us."

"Not possible. Kid's never met us, so she can't possibly hate us, yet," Face cheerfully denied. "We usually need more than a few hours to make a person loathe and despise us. And it takes a whole day or two to make them want us all dead." 

"On the bright side, vaping all seven of us a couple of times made her really... pleased," Sarkin sighed. "It meant something to her. Something... important. Like proving something to herself."

Elassar grumbled, "Glad to know our mass extermination at least makes someone happy." 

Shalla walked over to the last TIE pod and climbed up to peer inside. She jumped down and reported, "No former TIE pilot Colonels in the pod. Blue's just that good."

"As good as said former TIE pilot Colonel?" Face asked, thoughtfully. "Last I heard, the Empire doesn't like to turn out adorable baby TIE pilots. What a tragic waste of attractive females." He bit the inside of his cheek and thought about the mysterious young woman who hated them. "Sithspit. Now the kid's gone and awakened my curiosity. I don't have a long list of mortal enemies. I would really like to know Blue's name."

Shalla agreed, "There is a story there. If she's an Imp, why is she here playing games and not using real simulators on a capitol ship somewhere?"

"Maybe she's on leave?" Elassar suggested. 

"If we can get her to tell us her name, we can run a search when we get back to base," Kell added. "Can you feel which way she went, Tyria?"

"Hard not to feel so much animosity. Much harder to tune her out," Tyria confessed. "I want to know what I did to her."

"What makes you think you, or we, did anything? We've never laid eyes on Blue before today," Elassar stated.

When Tyria bit her lip uncertainly, the Wraiths all said, in unison, "Just a feeling." 

Tyria glared at them, "I don't say it very often. Do I?"

"No, not very often," Face assured her. "We just know we need to listen when you do." He patted her arm. "Where'd she go?"

"Pod racer sims."

Face gave them the game plan. "Round up the other Wraiths from the game booths. Then, split up and cover the exits, in case she bolts when we approach her. Play it casual, people. We're just a group of comrades here to have fun and blow off some steam." He looked to Shalla, "If someone can follow her home, do it, and report back with the address." 

"Don't..." Tyria started to say, and then stopped herself.

"Don't what, 'Ria?" Kell's voice was concerned.

"Don't do anything to make her more upset."

Shalla frowned at the other woman. "She's upset by us? She won all three sims against active New Republic pilots...""Blue's very aware of that. I feel her fear mixed in with the bravado and anger," Tyria said, her eyes unfocused. "It's not us... it's well... everything."

The two women shared a look. "Teenage angst?"

"No. Not normal teenage angst. Definitely some depression and self destruction, though. Fear and anger and hate... all the things Master Skywalker says are sure paths to the Dark side."

Face gave her a reassuring pat. "Well, let's go talk to her. We wouldn't want a teenage Sith ruling in our favorite hangout spot, now would we?"  
As they exited the lift, Tyria turned to Face, "Can I do the talking? Please? She said I was cute, and maybe she'll talk to me if I play it like I'm a potential groupie. All pilots like recognition..."

Kell gave a disapproving boyfriend grunt, and Face chuckled. "Down big fella. If the mysterious TIE pilot had shown an interest in you, I'd be sending you in to charm her."

"Huh."

"I'm not going to ask her on a date, Kell. I'm just going to ask her for some tips." She smirked at him. "Blue said I'm not horrible in a TIE; I'm pretty sure it was actually a compliment."

"You aren't horrible in a TIE. You're one of our best," Kell reassured her. 

Tyria shrugged, and admitted, "I'm never going to be Blue's level of good."

"Who is?" Shalla groused.

"Fighter pilots... I love the smell of competition in the air," Face kidded with a wide grin.

<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>

Emerie exited the pod racer sim regretting every second she'd been in the seat. Her shoulder now throbbed with stabbing electric shock pains as well as the "normal" level of agony from the collarbone which had for the last four months refused all efforts at healing properly. 

Flexing her right hand and rubbing the fingers together had become a kind of self-soothing when she was stressed out, a reminder she still had her hand and arm, and therefore she still had hope. 

Tonight, she needed the comfort and was tempted to get a table in her favorite bar at Darkmatter Alley and fall head first into a bottle of cheap alcohol. It wouldn't dull the pain completely, but then nothing did. Not since Emerie chose to throw away all her narcotic painkillers and learn to deal without them. Even after using these sad excuses for simulators when the pain was at its worst. 

When she got back to the Empire, they would do a full medical work up and if she tested positive for narcotics like pain killers they'd drop kick her out the nearest airlock for wasting their time. The medics expected a certain level of alcohol abuse from pilots, though. Mostly, when they needed to come down enough to sleep after a mission or on leave.

Wincing as someone touched her bad shoulder lightly, Emerie turned to lay into the idiot and found the pony-tailed blonde from the sim arena. 

Deep brown eyes flicked from her shoulder to her face and back. "I touched your arm and it hurt you. I'm so sorry."

She looked surprised and a little sick. "We met in the sim room..."

"I remember," Emerie grumbled, frowning.

Tyria gave her a shy smile. "I was hoping to catch up to you. You were amazing. I couldn't exactly say as much in front of my squadmates, of course. Where did you learn to fly like that?"

Emerie fought the urge to roll her eyes at the other woman. "Skystrike." The name garnered the shocked reaction she'd been looking for. If this woman had heard of the Empire's elite training facility, then she was doubtless a pilot from the nearby base and not a shuttle or cargo pilot.

"No wonder you are so good, and with a sore shoulder..." The blonde offered her weak smile. "I bet if you are a TIE pilot, a real TIE pilot, you were wounded in a some battle and the New Republic brought you here to make you better."

Emerie just nodded and started to walk. 

"Wait, please. Can I buy you a drink?"

"You want to buy me a drink, blondie? What about the burly thundercloud of a boyfriend?"

"He's gone off to blow up Imperial Walkers in the RPG sims." She held out a hand. "My name is Tyria Sarkin."

When Emerie didn't return the shake or offer her name, the woman, Tyria, winced and that made her feel rude. "Why do you want to buy me a drink so badly, Tyria Sarkin?" 

"I'm mediocre TIE pilot, I admit it, but sometimes I have to fly them. I'd rather be in a X-Wing, but that's not always possible. If I buy you a drink, maybe you could spend five or ten minutes telling me things I'm doing wrong?"

"Everything," Emerie told her. "You are doing everything wrong. In five or ten ten minutes... maybe I could tell you one or two things you did right." They were slowly making their way to the 'quiet' bar near the side entrance. "I could use a drink."

"For the pain?"She stopped walking and turned to the other woman, "Yes, for the kriffing pain. It's the only constant in my life since the day Rogue Squadron almost killed me."

Tyria swallowed and nodded, "I may know of something better then whiskey for pain."

"Orgasms?"

The blonde laughed, "I think your pain is beyond what fifteen minutes of oral sex in a privacy booth can fix."

"Just how would you know how bad my pain is?" Emerie demanded.

Her expression closed down, those dark chocolate colored eyes became guarded, and Emerie thought she had finally succeeded in shaking her off. 

"See ya around, Sarkin." 

"No, wait. I'll tell you, but not here. Let's get a table, and you have to tell me your name in return." 

Emerie chose the table so she could sit with her back to the wall and be near the exit doors. Once they were seated, she folded her hands on the table. "You want my name, so you can look me up and let the New Republic know I'm contaminating their pilots' little playground."

"Not at all. I'm more likely to search your medicals to look up your therapists, so I can let them know you are undoing all their hard work on lame pod racer sims."

"Bitch."

Sarkin laughed, "Yeah, I am." 

"I only got on the podracer hoping your bunch would clear the simulator arena, so I could circle back and collect all the tokens I just won."

"Oh! Your tokens. Now, I feel really bad."

"The machine will hold them until the next time I play."

"Do you come here often?"Emerie hesitated. 

"You do, don't you? This is how you're keeping your skills sharp."

Wincing at how pathetic Tyria's analysis made her sound, Emerie admitted it.

"These pods are garbage. If I were you, I'd try to get hired as a guest instructor at Coruscant Academy, the new name for the Royal Academy, since you were a student there."

The thought had never occurred to Emerie and the surprise showed on her face, because the woman beamed at her. The smile was blinding. "The pain is too much for more than a few hours a few times a week," she confessed.

"I can help. I think."

"Doubtful. The medics gave me the full range of motion, but the collarbone isn't healing."

Tyria winced, rubbing her own shoulder in sympathy, "I dislocated my arm once on Toprawa. Or I should say a classmate dislocated it for me. Dumb, clumsy oaf that he was. He wasn't even trying to hurt me, it was an accident." Grimly, she added, "My pain is nothing compared to yours."

"How do you know? It's the second time you've said that."

The blonde tugged on her ponytail. "I can feel things... pain, anger, hate. I'm sensitive to stuff like that in other people. I recently started studying healing, too... with the power of my mind."

Emerie laughed. 

"Wow. You are very beautiful when you smile. Let me get our drinks, and I will come back and prove it." 

"Fine. You can buy me a Cherban brandy on ice."

Tyria threw a smile over her shoulder at Emerie, "I felt that."

"Huh." Emerie thought something naughtier than that Tyria Sarkin had a lovely bottom.

"Tempting... but not today. I generally prefer guys, and my burly thundercloud is excellent with his tongue."

Emerie sat back and considered the possibility someone could know her thoughts or heal with the power of her mind. Impossible things.

Tyria returned from the bar with a sashay of her hips. "One more impossible thing for you to ponder, Blue... Gamoreans who fly X-Wings."

"Blue?" Emerie raised a eyebrow.

"Don't like the nickname the Wraiths have given you, tell me your real name."

"Wraiths?"

"Wraith Squadron."

"Oh, them. I'd forgotten all about your dead."

"Ha ha. Rest assured, they have not forgotten about YOU."

Emerie shifted in her seat to try to ease the discomfort in her shoulder. She took a long burning pull of the alcohol. "This is good stuff. Thanks."

"You think I would buy you a cheap drink?"

"I don't know what to think." And that was the honest truth, right there.

The other woman looked into her eyes. "I'm waiting." 

"For?"

"Name. Rank. Serial Number."

"Is this an interrogation, Sarkin? Why are all your interrogators so hot?!"

Tyria smirked, "I really hope most TIE pilots aren't adorable like you."

"Lieutenant Emerie... NotTellingYouMyLastName. Only surviving pilot of the 214th. If you can call this nightmare I'm currently living surviving."

Sarkin frowned, "Only survivor?"

"Rogues," the TIE pilot snarked, in defense of her comrades.

"No wonder you hate X-Wing pilots."

"You can feel that?"

The blonde head bobbed up and down, "Oh yeah, I can feel the death lasers shooting from your eyes all the way across the building."

"And yet you approached me... Why?"

The other woman thought about it. "We aren't in a battle, now. This is a place to have fun."

"And if I were in my TIE and you were in your X-Wing?"

"Then, I would feel really bad as I tried my hardest to kill you." 

Emerie downed the rest of her drink in one gulp. "Same."

Tyria stood and moved around the table toward her. "Don't freak and go evasive on me, but I need to rest my hand on your collarbone in order to heal it."

Groaning, Emerie, scooted over on the bench to give her room to sit and turned so her shoulder was presented to the blonde. The fingers that brushed her skin were cool and made her shiver. 

"Seriously? I haven't done anything, yet."

"Your fingers are cold."

Tyria gave her an eyeroll. "Typical flyboy... flygirl."

"Ha ha ha." Emerie did feel something, then, and her breath left her in a rush. "Oh. Ow."

"Sithspit. This is bad." Sarkin bit her lip, uncertainly.

Emerie nodded, "Told ya so."

"I'm still going to try, but this is only going to be a temporary fix. Maybe a few days to a week, at most."

"A week without pain is better than nothing."

Nodding, Sarkin did whatever she was doing to Emerie, and she must have blacked out, because she came to on a bed she recognized as one in one of the pricey privacy rooms on the third floor of Darkmatter Alley. "What happened? What's going on?"

"Don't sit up yet," Tyria warned her. "You've only been passed out for a few minutes. We carried you up here, so you can recover in private." Tyria sat on the edge of the bed next to her. "It was a beginner mistake. You fainted. I maybe should've considered you might faint or scream or something before I tried healing you in a public bar filled with people."

"Beginner healer?"

"Yes, but my healing is better than some of my other Jedi skills. Although, I'm getting really good with my training lightsaber."

"Jedi?" 

"In training." Tyria said, helping her to sit up and propping pillows behind her back.

"Did I hit my head, because I could swear your squadmate over by the door is a Gamorean." 

Tyria grinned brightly, "I TOLD you so."

"I'm so confused," Emerie muttered.

"We do that to people," a green skinned Twilek woman assured her, solemnly. "It's a Wraith Squadron tradition."

Emerie blinked when she got a good look at the face of the man next to the Twilek. "Aren't you a kid holo-vid actor?" 

The man smiled, and offered her a hand. "I was. Now, I'm Captain Loran, CO of Wraith Squadron. As you can see, we are a... colorful... bunch."

The TIE pilot didn't take the proffered hand, but instead turned to the Gamorean, "You fly a TIE fighter?"

A series of grunts were followed by a deep, synthetic voice, "When I must. I prefer my X-Wing." 

Emerie realized her mouth was hanging open and closed it. "You weren't in the sims today." 

"No." 

"Are you any good?"

"Not here. These pods are too small to be comfortable."

"I can imagine." She counted them. Eight pilots. "Only eight pilots?"

Loran shrugged, "We had two leave to join Rogue Squadron. And we lost two and haven't found anyone crazy enough or messed up enough to want to join us." 

From the corner of her eye, she could see Tyria give her CO a small head shake, warning him off the topic of Rogue Squadron. 

Emerie was preempted from saying anything by a horned Deveronian taking her good hand and pressing her thumb to a scanner on his medical datapad. She tugged at her hand, but his grip was like a warm vice. 

"Stop," he commanded her. "Be still, human child. I need to look at your medical records, now, since Tyria didn't think to allow me to check them before she decided to try healing you." His eyes scanned the screen of his medical datapad. 

"Are you a medic?"

"Corpsman. Good enough for patching up this bunch, if they need it, but I wouldn't want to try reattaching someone's arm." The look he gave her was incredulous and he hissed out a breath through sharp, pointed teeth. "How are you even alive?" He asked sourly. "And why are you in this place doing foolish things like pod races?"

The glare Emerie gave him was scathing. "First, I'm almost eighteen, not considered a child on any planet in the Empire, or the New Kriffing Republic. Second, I have a list of off limits places from those stiffs in Intelligence when they finished debriefing me. They, for the record, told me I was free to go about my business on Imperial Center. Darkmatter Alley isn't one of the prohibited places, and this is the closest I have come to flying in the last four months. Third, the surgeon told me this is as good at it gets for my injury, so if I can learn to ignore the pain, I can get back out there and fly missions."

The Deveronian scrunched up his face and shook his head. "No. No. No. Pain is a warming you are doing stupid, damaging things. Pain should not be ignored." 

"Speaking of pain," Tyria said, "How is your collarbone?"

It was a good question, and Emerie was afraid to move and find out.

The Deveronian took her bad hand and uttered the now familiar words all her therapists asked, "How is your grip strength?"

Emerie squeezed his hand, hoping to break bones, but knowing she wouldn't. His approving nod pleased her, though. "Good grip... for a pilot who is recovering from dying twice."

"I didn't die twice."

"I beg to disagree. There is clearly a note in your file which states Major Janson, one of the former Wraiths we mentioned earlier who moved to Rogue Squadron, just happened to know what to do when a person in a bacta tank goes into cardiac arrest and he restarted your heart, as witnessed by two other Rogues." 

Emerie felt bile rise and fill her mouth. She swallowed the bitterness and willed herself not to wretch. "Oh."

"Try moving your shoulder, Emerie," Tyria encouraged her. 

She did and it took a minute to register she didn't feel anything. No stabbing pains. No miserable gnawing ache in her collarbone. A sob escaped and she clamped her right hand over her mouth as she would have naturally before the injury. "I don't feel anything," the TIE pilot whimpered. "No pain. I don't... I... thank you."

Tyria let out the breath she'd been holding. "You're welcome. I did what I could, but I'm not the Jedi healer, or Master Skywalker. Things as severe as your wound require days in a healing trance. I don't know how to do those, yet."

"It's enough. For as long as it lasts, Tyria, it's enough. I owe you for this."

Tyria gave her a watery smile she imagined matched her own. "Want to meet us here tomorrow and go a couple of rounds in the sims? We'll let you vape us all, and then you can mock and berate our lack of TIE skills, so we know what we need to do to improve."

"Sounds like my kind of date," Emerie agreed. "One condition... no Rogues. Please."

The whole group nodded, and Loran said, "No Rogues."


	3. Chapter 3

"Where are you going?" Tycho asked, yawning and stretching out to claim more of the warm bed his fiancee just vacated. 

Winter looked back at him over her bare shoulder, offering him a coy smirk. "I need to go."

Raising an eyebrow, Tycho asked, "In the middle of my welcome home celebration? Squadron only got back yesterday. I thought the plan was to spend the whole day in bed. It's only been ten hours..." 

"Remember Emerie Santhe?"

"Of course, how could I forget?"

"While you were recovering from our third round of amazing sex, I was getting a report from Captain Loran regarding our little TIE pilot."

Tycho's face fell. "Loran is going to cost me the rest of today's sex?"

"Not only is Emerie alive, Sel, she's sharpening her skills in the sim pods at Darkmatter Alley. The Wraiths stumbled across her last night, and she agreed to meet them this evening." Winter froze as a thought occurred to her and she spun around to look at him. "Please, tell me the Rogues aren't going to Darkmatter today."

Tycho scrunched his face up, "I think they are."

"Oh, no. This is going to turn into a disaster. Loran promised Emerie no Rogues would be in attendance. He couldn't possible have known your bunch arrived back yesterday. I didn't even know." She hurried to the table beside the bed and fumbled through her day bag for her comlink. 

"Kriff it." 

<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>

"Change of strategy," Inyri told Gavin, "Target the slower one." The recreational simulator headsets were less distorted than their standard New Republic military issue, so his sigh was clearly audible to her... and anyone in the arena viewing area. 

"So the faster one can get around behind us more easily?"

"Got a better idea?"

Gavin's reply was cut off by a whoop of delight from the open channel as Inyri's firing display frantically blinked red, then all her pod screens flashed white and winked out, leaving her sitting in darkness. A final message flashed in the forward viewport screen giving the pilot's score for the scenario. "Shavit. I'm dead, but I got the TIE as it got me."

"And I couldn't get clear in time, so your s-foil got me, too," Gavin told her. "We held our own, but that last pilot was on fire."

Inyri popped the hatch on her sim pod and tugged the borrowed helmet off and holding it with two fingers, disdainfully. She was thankful Darkmatter sanitized the hell out of them. Helmets normally didn't get shared and she was glad to ditch the thing in the cleaning bin and shake her hair out of it's ponytail. 

A glance in the smooth surface of the sanitizing station's lid showed her reflection, with her straight hair back to the boring brown which was her natural color after nearly a year of being midnight blue and then more than a year the color of red wine. The thought had crossed her mind recently how maybe it was time to change things up, but Inyri wouldn't be doing it for herself. It would be a pitiful grab for the attention of a pilot in her squadron. And she figured after the initial shock factor wore off, then Klivian, the idiot, would just go back to not noticing her. Curse him and all idiot men. 

Inyri hated her growing desperation. There were only so many times a girl could 'accidentally' lock herself out of the base's recreational pool area in a tiny bikini before one of her friends took matters into their own hands. And with Inyri's luck they'd lock the two of them in a supply closet with no food or refresher for hours in an attempt to clue Klivian in to how much Inyri liked him. More than liked him, really. 

Yesterday, after debriefing from another six week assignment chasing Imp supply convoys, she'd casually offered up the suggestion of some fun at Darkmatter Alley, but the only enthusiastic taker had been Gavin. 

Sweet, lonely Gavin, who pined for his lost Asyr until the whole squadron despaired for him finding happiness ever again. Was it worse to love someone who was right in front of you, and didn't actually see you, or love someone and lose them? Both options were equally depressing to her. Darkmatter Alley would do them both good. Gav needed to get out and meet new people, and she needed to maybe look at going back to where she'd been successful in the past... with women. 

The Hobbie situation was worse when she considered he was staunchly straight. Everyone knew he was interested in females exclusively, but none of the women he pursued was HER. 

Gavin came up beside her at the refreshment counter and shot her a ghost of his old boyish grin. Who couldn't love a kid with a smile like that? He would find someone to love. 

Inyri was the squadron's resident lost cause. 

A black haired young woman stepped up beside them and ordered a fruit fizz. She looked them over and offered them a blinding smile. "That was really fun. I wish we could go another round..."

"I had fun," Gavin agreed. "Kinda glad I didn't make any bets on the outcome, though."

"My sister is going to need a bucket to hold all her winnings."

Inyri raised an eyebrow, asking, "Why can't we go another round?" 

"The pods are booked up for the next two rounds, apparently my sister made a date last night to face off against a bunch of pilots from the base."

"Really?" Gavin asked. "Oh, boy. Those pilots are in for a rude awakening," he chuckled. 

The girl shrugged, "Nah, Emerie kicked their butts last night, so they get how good she is. According to her, they practically begged for more abuse. I, personally, can only take so much of her showing me up. Why do you think I rammed you both before she could take you out, then come for me?"

"So much for sisterly love," Inyri remembered well the trials and tribulations of sibling rivalry with her own sister.

"I suppose it means something when she saves me until last."

"It means I get tired of having to buy you drinks to cheer you up if I take you out when you deserve to be taken out," a voice said. 

When Inyri turned to look at the speaker, the newest addition to the people at the counter, she found herself doing a double take. Same height, same build, same base hair color, inky black with differently dyed ends: one fuchsia, one bright blue. Similiar face. No, scratch that. Same face. 

"Whoa. You... You aren't clones, are you?" Gavin asked, earning him a cough and an elbow to the ribs from Inyri. Wincing she rolled her eyes at him. "Farmboy, don't be silly. They're not clones, they're identical twins."

Gavin banged his forehead on the bar, turning to the young woman with fuschia ends to her hair, the one who they knew was not named Emerie, and very dramatically sank to his knees before her. He looked up at her with those huge brown puppy eyes and folded his hand together in a pleading gesture. "Please, say you'll forgive me and forget I ever said that. I'm not usually so dense. We've just had some clone troubles the last few years."

"Gavin, this isn't Corsex." 

Emerie asked, frowning at him, "Gavin? Gavin Darklighter?"

Her twin patted the young Rogue on his head like the big, playful puppy he was, and cooed to him. "Of course, I forgive you. There's nothing I like more than a hot guy on his knees and begging."

"Averie..." Emerie growled out, gesturing at him as she hissed, "Gavin." Her eyes were huge and very blue, right before she hauled off and kicked him in the thigh with the toe of her boot. Hard.

"Ow!" Gavin yelped, rubbing his leg. "What was that for?"

"Yeah, Em, what's the deal?"

Emerie pointed at him, "Gavin is a Rogue! THE Rogue."

"THE Rogue? You don't mean he's the one who..."

"YES!" She drew her foot back to kick him, again, but he shot to his feet and scrambled out of her line of fire. 

At the same time, an arm caught Emerie around the middle and hauled her gently up off her feet and a few meters backward. It was Kell Tainer of Wraith Squadron, and he neatly spun her around, so she was facing the group of Wraiths who had entered into sim arena behind them. 

"No Rogues. That was our deal, Loran. No Rogues." She jerked a thumb at Gavin. "That's a Rogue."

"We don't kick Rogues, they usually get their faces slapped. It's kind of a tradition from what we've been told," the Deveronian medic informed her. 

"Colonel Celchu said 'Gavin' went head to head with me. Him! That.... KID. I almost died because of a dumb boy."

Loran's serious expression faltered, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "Uh huh."

"Wait, I'M a kid?" Gavin responded, obviously insulted. "I'm older than you, girl. When did I almost kill you? I've never laid eyes on you before today. Either of you. I'd remember faces like yours."

Inyri put her hand on his arm. "I think I know, Gav." She felt sick as all the pieces clicked into place. "Emerie isn't just as good as a TIE pilot. She is a TIE pilot, and somehow ended up stuck on Corscant after you and she spent time on the medical frigate. I knew she looked familiar. You wouldn't have seen her. Janson made the medics put a screen up between the bacta tanks, so she had privacy."

"Actually, I had them put the screen up. Janson asked to have her moved to another room. It was a compromise," Colonel Celchu explained as he strolled up to the group of pilots, his appearance bring a calming sanity to the flared tempers. 

To the young Imp, he offered a sincere sounding apology, "I'm very sorry, Lieutenant. I got here as quickly as a could when I realized the Rogues were probably coming in today. Winter told me you made a deal with the Wraiths, and it's my fault if the deal is blown, not Loran's."

Emerie crossed her arms over her chest and eyed them all suspiciously. For a minute there the kid looked like she was going to ruin the kohl accenting the stunning blue of her eyes by starting to cry. 

"Come on, Gav, let's go get a drink, so the Wraiths can get their collective asses kicked in a Rogue free environment."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Tainer called to her. "Feel free to enjoy our slaughter on the holo projectors in the bar."

Gavin said, "May the Force Be With You. Come lick your wounds in the bar with us when she's done with you. I'll buy the Wraiths' first round."

"It may be a while," Tyria told him. "First, Emerie promised to mock us and tell us how pitiful we are and how we disgrace TIE pilots everywhere."

"You mean like a every Flight Instructor I've ever had?" Inyri wondered aloud.

"Yeah," Tainer said. "We Wraiths LOVE verbal abuse." 

"I hope Emerie got something out of it," the Colonel stated, frowning. 

"What I got was better than credit tokens... Last night I had the first night of pain free sleep since the day we met. Sarkin did some magical healing thing with the power of her mind," she told the Colonel.

Inyri let the words sink in. "Are you saying your wounds are so bad bacta can't heal them?"

Averie answered for her twin, "Her arm and shoulder work, after three surgeries, but the pain is... well, let's just say it's bad."

Emerie told Celchu, "What I needed was a few days reprieve from the kriffing pain." The girl walked away toward the helmet pick-up stand, leaving them all to watch her go in somber silence.

The Colonel watched her go, then with a sigh, he led them from the room. Once they reached the largest bar on the first level, he paid for their drinks. 

Gavin sat lost in thought as he took his Lomin Ale and sipped it.

"Let it go. It's war. It's what we do, Gavin. We kill them or they kill us," Inyri reminded him. 

"I got a concussion and a broken jaw from that fight, but I don't feel like kicking her or anything. She's pretty. Very pretty." He frowned at this observation. "They're younger than me," he insisted. 

"They are," Tycho assured him, "but not by very much."

"Is the other twin a TIE pilot, too?"

"No, Averie is a test pilot for her family's business interests in the Outer Rim. She's been here while her sister recovers from the surgery and completes her therapy."

Gavin looked into the Colonel's eyes. "Nobody told me anything about an enemy pilot who survived the battle. I want to hear the whole story, sir. You seem to know a lot about her, and with all due respect, I feel like I deserve to know. She didn't seem to hate you, even though you're a Rogue. Why?"

"My personal theory is Emerie might be the tiniest bit sweet on the Colonel, Gav."

The older man laughed at that. "It's not me she has targeted, it's Winter."

"OH..." Inyri gasped. "Are you worried? I mean she's hot."

"Not really. Winter feels protective of them, but they aren't stray kittens we can adopt, as fierce and adorable as they are. Emerie isn't about to give up her dream. Her coming here to use the sims while still in terrible pain is proof of her determination."

Gavin asked, "What is exactly is a TIE pilot's dream, or should I be afraid to ask?"

"Same as any pilot's dream, to be the best." Colonel Celchu downed the rest of his brandy, setting the empty glass back on the napkin before continuing, "Her bad luck in running into us cost her the slot she'd earned in the 181st."

Inyri's mouth fell open in shock."You can't be serious. THE 181st?" Beside her, Gavin shuddered at the mention the Imperial squadron, home to top pilots the Empire had to offer. She put an arm around his shoulders and gave the young man a hug. 

"Could you beat her?" Gavin asked, as Tycho was the best pilot in their squadron.

The Rogue CO shrugged, "Maybe. Maybe not. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to find out. In simulation, of course, and not on a mission."

"I already know she's better than me. I can't believe she kicked me and called me 'that kid' and a 'dumb boy'," Gavin grumbled. "Maybe, I need to grow facial hair or something."

This made the Colonel smile. "You look younger than your age, despite all the working out you've been doing to bulk up."

"Averie seemed interested in you, Gav," the female Rogue offered. "We could try to find her and you could ask her to dance..."

Screwing up his face, Gavin groaned, "Sure. So I can get shot down in another way tonight? I hurt her sister. I know I wouldn't be friendly to a pilot who hurt one of my siblings. I don't want to get slapped tonight, my jaw has just finally stopped aching completely from the break."

"You could help me find Winter. Darkmatter is busy tonight, and I could use a second set of eyes."

Gavin nodded, "Sure, I can do that."

"Poor puppy," Inyri muttered once the two men were out of hearing range.

<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>

"What are you doing here?" A man demanded at Averie's shoulder. 

Averie turned her head and looked the speaker over from the dark curls and broad shoulders, to his military issue boots. Heat flared in her belly, but not just from his pretty face. This man was attractive and intimidating in equal parts. Then again, Coruscant held scores of pretty men, but this one's antagonistic tone had her itching to push his buttons. "I planned on finishing my drink," she explained, in a bored tone. "And then... I thought might go dancing. Or use the refresher to touch up my lip dye, and then dance."

Deeply brown eyes narrowed at her flippant attitude which told her this man was unused to people smarting off to him. An officer with some rank, then. Another Rogue. Emerie would probably know which one. 

"You shouldn't be here; You should leave." 

"No. I don't think so."

He leaned in to whisper, "Go back where you came from. You almost killed one of our pilots. You aren't welcome here."

"You know, you're cute, but you're not very bright," Averie told him, slightly exasperated. "I'm not who you think I am. Go away."

The Rogue persisted, "I know exactly who you are. You're an enemy pilot and a threat to the New Republic."

"Actually, I'm not. I'm impressed with the changes the New Republic has made on Coruscant. It's Rogue Squadron I seem to have issues with tonight." 

"You can always leave."

"I was here first, Rogue, why don't YOU leave."

Inyri had been watching their exchange, and Wes turned to her. "Back me up on this. Don't you think she should go?"

To his surprise, the female Rogue turned to the TIE pilot and offered her a small, apologetic smile. "Would you care to dance with me? Your lip dye is still perfect, by the way, no need for a touching up. Though, I could mess it up for you, if you want me to... Please, don't think all Rogues are bad because Janson is making a fool of himself. I'm sure someone, maybe Gavin, will clue him in eventually." 

The young woman grinned at her, "I would love to dance. And I will think on the lip dye offer. I do have a swipe card and lots of time to kill. Can we start at Starlight? They have the best music of all the dance clubs in Darkmatter."

"Absolutely. I completely agree with you about the music." Inyri offered her a hand and she took it. 

As they started to go around Janson, the young woman said, "By the end of the night, you'll know I'm right and you are an idiot." She rested her left hand on his chest. "You can't chase me away from Darkmatter Alley, and if you think to bully me, big guy..." She fisted hand in his shirt and yanked him forward and kissed him hard on the mouth. Against his lips, she breathed, "I can give it right back."

Her threat got Janson's attention and he took a big step back, her hand's warmth still burning through the thin fabric of his shirt. Narrowing his eyes at them, he said, "Whatever."

"What was that all about?" Hobbie asked, setting their drinks on the bar counter in front of their stools. "And where is Inyri going?" 

"Did you notice the kid she was with?" Wes demanded.

Hobbie's eyes widened, and he frowned, "I noticed she was young and attractive." A scowl settled on his face. "Did they go off to a privacy booth?" He asked, petulantly. 

His best friend sounded genuinely worried at the possibility of Inyri with the woman. "They went to dance. Something's up in here tonight. She's the TIE pilot who went head to head with Gavin a few months ago, Hobbs. The one who put him in the bacta tank."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"No. She isn't," Winter replied, sliding onto the bar stool Inyri had vacated. "Averie has never flown a single combat mission for either side. I checked her out just now. She's strictly a test pilot and trained fighter mechanic." She gave Wes a sidelong glance, and turned to the bartender to order a glass of white wine, her favorite, and smiled when she found the glass was already before her. 

Wes didn't seem convinced, but he was thinking. "It's good to see you, my Lady Winter."

"It's good to see you too, Rogue. I've missed you. What is it going to take to shake you out of this surly mood?"

The Rogue in question shrugged, "I would buy you a drink, but someone already did." Wes took her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. "Are the Wraiths running an op here tonight?"

"Not an officially sanctioned op, no." Winter kept his hand, holding tight. "People looking for a night of safe, harmless fun. Emerie is the TIE pilot you are think of, Wes, and she's in the sims on the second floor with a group of Wraiths as we speak. Sel is monitoring, and sulking in the bar on the second floor, since the deal was no Rogues were flying the sims with Emerie and she refused bend her rule to let him in." 

Wes' eyes widened in surprise, "Tycho WANTS to go up against HER?"

"As a former Imperial Academy graduate, your Colonel very much wants to know if a recent Academy graduate lives up to the hype the Wraiths have built up around her."

"Does she?"

Winter handed him and Hobbie compact, single ear comlink headsets. The comlinks were keyed to the three simulator arena frequencies: one for the X-Wing pilots, one for the TIE pilots, and the main frequency everyone shared. With all three broadcasting at once, the traffic was a bit hectic and jumbled, but Wes could make it out.

_Emerie: Can you manage to fly in a straight line without crashing?  
Elassar: Maybe.  
Emerie: Do the opposite of a straight line. Or just sit tight. I'll double back for you after we complete the objective.  
Elassar: Ha Ha.  
Emerie: Sarkin, please, have you practiced a standard TIE formation? Sloppy. Sloppy.  
Tyria: Sorry.  
Shalla: What you suggest if they get into the canyon behind us?  
Emerie: Avoid the green lasers. Those make you dead.  
Shalla: Helpful.  
Emerie: No shields, no second chances. We're lighter, faster and more maneuverable, so don't be where they are aiming. Entering the canyon in T-10 seconds. Keep your eyes open. Once we secure the objective, it's first come first served._

Wes listened with a trainer's interest and he was just about to reach out to activate the holo-projector, so he could see the battle as well as hear the chatter, when Hobbie beat him to it. 

Winter flashed him a grin, knowing she'd captured their attention and he offered her a shrug. "I'm curious..."

"Me, too," Hobbie nodded.

"Sel said Gavin and Inyri went up against Emerie and Averie before the twins discovered they were Rogues, and they had fun."

"Did they win?"

"Unfortunately not. This is the second run of the two they booked time for. The first had Emerie, Loran, Tainer and Piggy against Targon, Sarkin, Passik and Nelprin. The last two standing were Emerie, and oddly enough, Piggy. Loran was, according to our guest, 'not terrible, but not very good either'."

The trio watched in silence for a while, with Hobbie occasionally pointing out things the pilots on both sides could have done differently. Wes couldn't take his eyes off the TIE fighters as they flew the length of the trench looking for the base they were tasked with destroying. 

_Shalla: Got it! The base is coming up on the left in two klicks about half way down the wall. It's not big, we'll each only get one shot as we pass. Better make it count. Three. Two. One.  
Emerie: Report.  
Elassar: My shot was high.  
Tyria: I got a piece of it.  
Shalla: I couldn't see through the smoke from Tyria's shot.  
Emerie: I got a piece myself. There are still two X-Wings behind us.  
Elassar: Thanks for the reminder._

Hobbie bounced a little on his bar stool, "I wanna play."

Wes rolled his eyes. "Tycho promised her no Rogues."

"But only for those two rounds. I want to show them what TIE formations SHOULD look like. Where did you say Tycho was?"

"In the small bar outside the sim arena," Winter told him. 

Hobbie dropped a cred note on the counter to cover his drink and bailed out on them in a rush. No doubt headed to find Tycho and Gavin.


	4. Delicate Negotiations

"That was some impressive flying, Lieutenant. I have a proposition for you, if you'll hear me out?" 

A sly smile slowly spread across Emerie's face. "Does it involve Winter, a swipe card and an empty privacy booth?"

"Unfortunately, no," he chuckled. "How about one final sim with a pair of fellow Academy grads, Major Klivian and myself, in the TIEs with you, then Winter and I will buy you dinner."

Emerie's shoulders slumped a little and she hesitated in answering, "I don't know. I've already pushed past what I should be doing with this injury." At his frown, she hurried to add, "No pain, but I could use a rest." Her left hand went up to unconsciously rub at her right collarbone. 

"No more," Tyria called, walking up to them. "We should go to a privacy booth."

"Now, that is an acceptable proposition," Emerie agreed. "Take me, I'm yours..."

The blonde gave her an exaggerated eye roll. "Not for sex, silly. I want to try healing your shoulder, again."

Emerie turned her attention back to Celchu, "After the lovely lady with the magic touch gives me a boost, I'll allow you to buy me dinner at Starlight Tap-caf, and I will do one more sim with whatever pilots you want to bring. How does that sound?"

"Like a perfect date," Celchu assured her. "But, we'll need Averie to join us for dinner, too. Winter mentioned on the way over she has a surprise for you both."

Lower lip coming out in a pout, she asked, "Why can't I keep you to myself?"

"I find sharing is much more fun," the Colonel confided, and the boyish grin Celchu flashed her way revealed fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the kind which came from smiling as opposed to frowning or scowling. 

Emerie wondered what it would be like with Colonel Celchu as her commanding officer, or any commander capable of being kind or smiling without it being full of sharp sarcasm or outright malice. 

A finger lifted her chin and she met the pale blue of his concerned eyes. In a voice not much higher than a whisper, Celchu asked, "What were you thinking just now, kitten?" 

"Credit for my thoughts?"

"Something like that, yes."

Heaving a sigh, she noted lines at the corners of his mouth, as well, with him this close. "Why? What does it matter?"

His fingers slid away. "I wasn't trying to make you sad."

"Just wondering what it would be like to have a commander who smiled."

This seemed to surprise him, because he raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't smile very much."

Emerie raised her own eyebrow in challenge as she said, "You've smiled enough to form smile lines around your eyes." At his skeptical expression, she added, "Go find a 'fresher and look for yourself, if you don't believe me."

"Smile lines. Huh. Go on and get your Force healing. I'm not going down in front of an audience without a hell of a fight, not even for an adorable kitten like you."

She allowed him the nickname, but gave it back as good as she got. "Yes, sir. I was raised to respect elders."

Emerie found getting in the last word was very satisfying. 

Once shut inside the privacy booth with Tyria Sarkin, the other woman asked, "Were you actually flirting with the Colonel?"

"Would his Lady object to my flirting with him?"

"I don't think so, but he IS a Rogue. The best pilot Rogue Squadron has. Maybe even better than the General, but if you tell anyone I said that, I will deny this conversation ever happened."

Emerie hissed out a breath as the strange icy hot sensation of the healing started crawling up her arm. "Better than Wedge Antilles vaunted Hero of your New Republic?"

"You'll find out soon, and the best part is none of us has to die tonight to find out who is the hottest hand."

"With some work, Tyria, you could be a very good TIE pilot," Emerie told her. "You have fast enough reflexes."

This surprised a bark of a laugh from Tyria. "I think the Jedi healing shorted out your brain. That sounded suspiciously like a compliment."

Placing her hand over Tyria's where it sat on her arm, she said, "I appreciate you helping me when you don't even know me. I feel I owe you." Emerie bit her lip and her eyes burned. "The pain is so excruciating, especially when I lie down at night. I was almost to the point of believing I can't live with the hurting another day."

"Oh, Emerie, no," Sarkin insisted. "Promise me you won't give up. No matter how hopeless life feels right now." The blonde pilot surprised her by planting a very soft, but also very thorough, kiss on her mouth. At her shocked expression, Tyria chuckled, "Everyone knows we're alone in a privacy booth. So, I had to give you something. And muss you up a little, right?"

"You already have given something," Emerie whispered, her throat tight. "You've given me hope."

Sighing and rolling her eyes, the Wraith let go of her arm. "Get out of here before you make me cry. Go make the Colonel and his Lady love buy you the biggest, most expensive steak on the menu. You need real protein in your diet to heal properly."

"Yes, sir."

"I prefer 'yes ma'am'," Tyria corrected her, "but I will except 'sir' just this once."

"Thank you, ma'am.""You're welcome, brat."

<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>

The dinner conversation started with the Colonel and Emerie comparing their Imperial Academy experiences, and then they'd all moved on to debating the changes taking place on Coruscant pre and post Empire. 

Emerie seemed to be enjoying the conversation as much as she was, but Averie noticed when her sister's attention shifted to something across the tap-caf from their intimate booth. Shifting slightly in her seat, Averie could see the man standing just inside the doorway, looking in their direction.

Her sister's eyes were fixed and her breath hitched, almost too soft to hear. 

Winter also noticed Emerie's sudden distraction and glanced over her shoulder to identify what her twin was looking at. The pale haired Alderaanian woman muttered a curse under her breath, and Averie agreed. 

As Wes Janson weaved his way toward them through the maze of tables and booths, Averie swore Emerie's breaths came a little faster.

Tycho got an elbow in the side from Winter and she leaned over to whisper in his ear. The man's eyes widened and he half turned as Janson stopped before them. His dark eyes took in each of them, starting with Winter and the Colonel, then moving to Averie and Emerie. 

The whole appraisal took only seconds, until Emerie. "Twins," he said, nodding to himself in confirmation. 

"Now, you get it, right?" Averie asked, lightly sarcastic. 

The Colonel gave Janson nod. "I saved you an X-Wing spot in the next sim run, if you're interested?" Their eyes met and an entire conversation passed between them in a few looks.

Janson's gaze slid back to linger on Emerie, and eventually he said, "Pass." Reaching into a vest pocket, he pulled out a red Darkmatter token. He handed it to Winter, and offered her a gorgeous, playful smile. "I had other ideas."Her sister's whole body stiffened slightly on the bench beside her.

Winter's eyebrows rose, "One red token? Is this payback for not getting you a swipe card of your own?" 

"Nah, I have one. Face gave it to me," Janson confessed, "for Trainer Appreciation Day." His smile became a smirk when he noticed Emerie staring up at him with her mouth slightly open. "I should go. You have guests. When you want me, I'll be dancing."

Their food arrived and Janson departed with a nod to the Colonel and Winter, a glance with no apology offered at herself, and a much longer meeting of eyes with Emerie. 

When he was gone, Emerie shuddered, and then let out a breath she'd obviously been holding. "Whoa."

Celchu frowned at Emerie's reaction to meeting Wes Janson as if trying to decide if she was afraid of the Rogue pilot or something else entirely, but Ava already knew and she didn't hide her disapproval. "Just don't, Em. That man is an idiot. You don't need that."

"Not an idiot," Winter objected, but then qualified it with a muttered, "Usually."

The Colonel nodded in agreement. "Not acting much like himself today, though.""When he thought I was you, the Rogue said some pretty harsh things and tried to run me out of Darkmatter Alley completely."

"Oh, no. What did he say?" Lady Winter asked.

"And what did you do, Ava?" Emerie's face scrunched up as she winced.

Averie smiled at Winter, giving her big, innocent violet eyes. "I didn't break his nose. Or leave a handprint on his cheek."

"He probably earned it, though," the Rogue CO conceded.

"I calmly, and patiently, told him he was mistaken. I wasn't who he thought I was, and he needed to take his surly, tough guy act elsewhere. Then, I hauled him to me by the front of his shirt and kissed him right on his sassy mouth."

Emerie didn't say anything, just focused on the slab of rare Nerf on her plate, frowning. She cut pieces and chewed them, then cut more pieces, not making eye contact with anyone and leaving Averie to fill in the awkward silence. 

"So, the Colonel says you have a surprise for us?" Averie directed at Lady Winter. "I love surprises."

Winter nodded, "I do, yes." From a small, stylish belt pouch she produced two swipe cards, sliding them across the table to each of them. A coppery New Republic logo showed on a background of deep midnight blue on the front. 

"What's this?" Emerie asked, her hand hovering above the card a few centimeters and not moving to touch it.

Her sister's hesitation brought to mind a memory of a time their parents had taken them to a wildlife preserve and they'd been offered to chance to pet a tamed raptor's golden brown feathers, but they'd both been afraid the bird would bite them with its razor sharp beak. 

Averie picked up her card and examined it. "Great, a keycard. What does it open?"

"The Lady Santhe's private suite in the Palace. I discovered it has not been assigned to a new diplomatic guest, so I asked for it to be reassigned to your family, and more specifically to the both if you, since you are currently living on Coruscant."

"You asked. And just like that... It's ours?" Emerie eyed the pale haired woman thoughtfully.

Averie agreed with her suspicion, but she was more in tune with current events and Coruscant sludge-news gossip. Lady Winter had just confirmed some of the rumors Averie heard around. "What is expected in return for this gift?"

Winter's brown eyes met hers. "We aren't asking anything in return. If you want it, you are free use the suite."

"You don't want anything. What does the New Republic, and the Chief of State, want?" Rumor had it Lady Winter was a close confidant of the Alderaanian Princess Leia Organa, currently the Chief of State of the New Republic. 

"The New Republic always needs test pilots, mechanics, fighter pilots. Well trained pilots, with or without battle experience, are incredibly precious." The way Winter looked at Emerie and softened her tone on the word 'precious' made Averie raise an eyebrow in surprise. 

Her sister was forming quite an ambitious group of suitors without even consciously trying. Even before the injury, Em radiated something to everyone around her, and it wasn't until tonight Averie could put a name to it. Shyness. Her twin was so irritatingly singleminded in her pursuit of her goal to be the best TIE pilot in the galaxy, Averie failed to notice how tentative Emerie was in everything else. Her life since their return to Coruscant must feel like an endless parade of doctors, therapists, reports and questions. And pain which couldn't be adequately explained or eased. The weight of it all was crushing her sister, wearing away any resistance and making her vulnerable. Dominant personalities like the Colonel and Lady Winter were draw to protect Emerie in her vulnerability, like insects are drawn to sweet, refreshing nectar.

"You want us to defect," Emerie murmured, almost too softly to be heard. Her expression was troubled and a little frightened. "That..." She stopped and took a sip of her water before continuing, "Defecting would be very bad news for me." 

"As far as the Empire is concerned, Lieutenant, you didn't survive the battle where we picked you up," Tycho confessed.

Emerie gasped, turning to Averie, "Is it actually possible they don't realize I survived? They think I'm... dead?"

"I've seen their casualty report and your name is on it," Winter assured her. "We have no reason to give them any other impression.""My family knows I'm alive."

Averie nodded, "Of course, they do. They get the progress reports from your doctors I send them. You know as well as I do mom and dad want to come here and be with you, but they aren't sure of their welcome in the New Republic. Santhe Sienar still has Imperial contracts."

"Along with those passes, the New Republic is offering full diplomatic immunity and privileges to you, and they extend to the entire Santhe family, as well. Your parents are welcome on Coruscant and any other New Republic worlds."

"Of course, it would be in the New Republic's interest to make nice with us, Em, and they may hope to use us to get a few choice contracts for themselves," Averie stated, not sure of how she felt about the realization. The twins didn't involve themselves in the family business, not in anything beyond a test piloting capacity. "We don't have anything to do with the business, though I do get passes to the trade shows offered to me. It's how I met my ex."

"I'm useless." All eyes turned to Emerie, the silence deafening following her declaration. "The only reason I can fly sims at all is because the Wraith's pilot healed some of the damage the medics can't seem to fix in my nerves. Tyria warned me it's only a temporary fix. I would have nothing to offer the New Republic or the Empire or anyone else. I shouldn't even be here; I should be dead with the rest of my squadron. Some days I wake up wishing I was."

"Have you given up, then?" The Colonel asked her, voice gentle with compassion. 

Her sister met his eyes with tears brimming and threatening to fall. "Maybe."

"A respite from the pain, even a temporary stop-gap one, means you aren't done for. Not yet. Not unless you want to be."

"I don't know what I want. I can't see past this to a point in the future," Emerie confided, honest with herself and them. "Except to not hurt so kriffing much all the time. And to not wake up each night cold and terrified, not sure what I'm even so afraid of." 

Winter took her good hand in both of hers, "The meds don't work?"

"I never took any to find out. I threw them away."

Averie winced inwardly, but this was not something Emerie kept from her. Em was a very straightforward soul. 

Winter looked horrified. "Oh, Emerie... why?"

"You're afraid of addiction," Celchu said.

"Yes. I drink, sometimes too much, but it doesn't help. I still hurt, but feel foggy and more depressed."

At the Lady's questioning look, Emerie elaborated, "Imperial medics aren't going to remark on a drinking problem. It's tolerated, as long as the missions are successfully completed. They won't certify me fly if I'm on narcotics. If I give up my dream of flying with the 181st, then I'm not me. I'm a walking, talking corpse."

Winter shook her head, clutching at her hand as if the grip Ould anchor her sister to her life. "You are an intelligent, hardworking and dedicated woman." 

The former TIE pilot did understand. "We wouldn't be here tonight if Loran and the Wraiths didn't think you have something to offer, even just by playing low quality flight sim games with them." "I tell them how awful they are. Anyone can do that."

"Not really," the Rogue stated, with a chuckle. "They wouldn't listen to just anyone and feel inclined to work to improve their skills. You've earned their respect."

Lady Winter chimed in, "Many New Republic pilots alive, and dead, started exactly where you are right now. Not willing to go back, or not able, but also not sure how to move forward."

"I'm one of them," Tycho nodded, "and so was Wedge Antilles."

Emerie winced at the name, and Averie patted her arm sympathetically. "They have a point. And I have another one: does Gavin Darklighter seem like a vicious murder to you, Em?"

"No, he doesn't."

Averie nodded, "I found him about as threatening as a big, dorky bantha cub. In fact, I think I'm going to dance with him later, if he sticks around."

"You aren't all bad to him either," the Colonel assured her. "You have that young man reconsidering his preconceived ideas of Imperials."

Emerie huffed in surprise. "So, really, I'm the bad guy to Gavin. I hadn't given it much thought beyond being afraid of him. And angry, too, when I saw how young and handsome he is."

The Colonel gave Emerie a strange, considering look. "I want you to know, for the record, Gavin didn't take the shot. I fired on you to save Gavin's life. I'm not sorry for it, because I couldn't imagine the Rogues without Gavin, and I am certain you would have killed him. I am sorry you are suffering, though. I wouldn't wish long months of chronic pain on anyone."

To Averie, he said, "Gavin lost his first love in a battle not so long ago, and it's good to see him out trying to have a life, again. I hope you do ask him to dance."

"You care," Emerie accused. "About Gavin. About... me."

The man nodded his head once. "I do."

"The other pilots in my squadron... We weren't like you. Or Wraith Squadron. It's every pilot for themselves. It has to be." 

Celchu nodded, "I know. I was where you are. All the more reason to care about you and your sister. You're here with us and not out there."

Winter sighed. "We both care. And we aren't asking anything in return from either of you. Enjoy the amenities in the Palace. Stay at the suite whenever you want. The passes grant a generous spending account should you want or need anything. You can access all the dining, shopping, day spas and recreation areas. We have many excellent gyms, pools and gardens. Our suite is in the same wing of the Palace, and you are welcome to visit us. In fact, I may insist on it."

Averie snorted, "Uh huh. You can insist on Emerie living in the Palace and coming over for visits, but I'm happy where I am. The apartment Santhe Sienar keeps here is great."

"I promise you Averie won't give up her secret project in the hangar under the apartment. You don't want her living in the Palace, anyway. She steals things.""I do not.""Show me one document listing you as the owner of the property in our hangar."

Averie growled, "They were a gift. A suck up gift from my ex-boyfriend." 

"Can't provide ownership or registration papers. I knew it. Your ex is the thief, then? You are warehousing stolen goods." She shrugged at couple across the table and Averie wanted to hit her. "She steals things. She has a problem."

"You are a complete liar, Em."

Emerie blew her a kiss and stood up. "I am not. We should go, the Colonel and I have a date with a sim. Are you going to be my wingman?" 

"Yes, if only to shoot you in the back when you least expect it."

When Winter frowned, Emerie grinned, "Sibling rivalry at its finest. Averie has to shoot me in the back, because she knows I will vape her in a head to head match up." 

On their walk to the lift up to the second floor, the Colonel asked them, "So what's this about stolen items in your hanger? Do we need to investigate?"

Emerie smiled wickedly. "Two salvaged prototype fighters Averie claims are too jacked up to be of any use to anyone. They both crashed, obviously, and she's been working on them while I recover. She loves them."

"They're garbage. I don't know why I waste my time trying to figure out why they don't fly."

"Boredom. Lack of dates and a social life. No paying customers needing your mechanic skills."

"Keep it up and I'm kicking you out."

"Oh, well then, it's a good thing I have this." Emerie waved the New Republic emblem card. "I can move out and not have to smell grease, solvents and fighter fuel every day."

"You're a fighter pilot; You're used to it."

"Doesn't mean I enjoy it."

"Have you ladies ever spent an entire day just relaxing and being pampered?" Winter asked. "I can make you an appointment..."

Averie sighed. "Not since the day before Em started at Royal Academy when we turned twelve. Mom took us to a day spa somewhere in the Palace... it was pure bliss."

"Second level or fourth level?"

"I can't remember."Emerie did, "Fourth level near a garden with crystal and gold fountains."

Winter smiled, nodding. "That is the best spa in the Palace. In my opinion."

"I remember it being fun, but it was strange to be the center of so much attention. I wouldn't object to some pampering. I'm older and can properly appreciate it, especially the wine bar."

The elegant Lady beamed at Averie. "I will arrange it all and contact you with the details." She turned to her sister, "Emerie, I think you should try the medication for a few days, if the healing is indeed only temporary and the pain returns. A few days isn't going to make you an addict."

"The Wraiths medic told me the same. He suggested I ask for a replacement of the meds I tossed."

"I'd like to help, with your permission of course, and if the surgeon agrees I can have him send the scrip to the chemist in the Palace's med-center and you can pick them up there."

Emerie nodded, solemnly. "I guess."


	5. Small Victories

"What's going on with you, Wes?"

Wes stiffened in Winter's arms. "Honestly, Winter, I don't know. I can't explain what made me act that way."

"It's not like you to be unkind to a pretty girl in a bar."

"It all made so much more sense when I saw Emerie, and her twin, together at the table with you. I knew she was the pilot from the bacta tank, and not the other woman."

They danced in silence for a while, and she pressed a kiss to his jaw in an obvious attempt to distract him. "You smell good, flyboy."

"What has happened to Emerie these past months? She looks like hell."

Winter froze against him. "Wes!" His lover hissed, "That is absolutely the wrong thing to say of a teenage girl, especially one who nearly died a few short months ago." She slapped his bicep. "With four sisters, you should know better. Pilots, even ones who aren't young and female, are very sensitive about their appearance." She started swaying to the music, again, aware they were still on the dance floor surrounded by other dancers. 

"I would never say that to her face, of course. But Winter, what is wrong with Emerie? It's like she's fading away. Her skin is so pale and she's lost weight. The doctors should be taking better care of her."

Winter shrugged, uncomfortable discussing private medical information, but knowing Wes wouldn't let it go. "Her wounds healed well and Emerie has full use of her hand, shoulder and arm, with only the expected weakness exercise will correct." She rested her cheek on Wes' shoulder. "The issue is nerve damage. According to Emerie, the pain is excruciating and constant. It's worn her down."

Cursing under his breath, Wes grumbled, "I saved her life, but what kind of a life is this?"

"She still hopes to be able to fly a TIE in battle and join the 181st," Winter said. "So, she drinks too much and uses the sims here to keep her skills sharp when the pain allows."

"Emperor's black bones. The kid's drinking herself to death. I've see enough pilots do it to know how it looks. How could Emerie possibly sim against Tycho if she's in so much pain?"

"Tyria Sarkin offered her a small Jedi healing last night, and again before the sim today, but Sarkin isn't a trained Jedi healer and we don't know if the pain is going to come back full strength, or if the healing had any lasting effect. Tycho and I left messages for Luke on Yavin IV." 

"Last I heard, Wedge mentioned Luke was moving around. He's out looking for new recruits for his Jedi school."

"Leia may know more specifics of Luke's travel plans, I'll ask her tomorrow."

Wes' arms tightened around Winter and he pressed a kiss to her temple. "How long does she have?"

"We can't know. I have a bad feeling Emerie is too stubborn and independent to ask for help when or if the pain does come back." Winter smiled slyly at him. "Both twins are clearly attracted to my dark Rogue. I hear Averie kissed you."

Cheeks reddening, Wes gave a sheepish nod. "Not the slap I was expecting."

"Averie is a very dominant personality, and if you aren't careful, she'd have you on a leash."

"I'm already on a leash."

"Loran's?" Winter asked with a smirk. 

Wes kissed her lightly on the lips. "Yours."

"Oh. Good. If I'm holding your leash, I'll need to get you a suitable collar."

"There was a collar and a pair of leather wrist bands in Face's gift with the Darkmatter Alley card. Along with a datacard outlining Coruscanti underground kink culture and etiquette."

"You have to give him points for persistence and creativity. The man has been waiting far longer than the six months we told him to wait."

Wes eyed her, amused. "I'm more worried about what YOU might give him."

"What I'm not giving that man is you." She kissed him hard on the mouth, then growled against his lips, "Mine." 

<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>

Klivian: So what's the plan?

Emerie: Simple. Stop the X-wings from completing their mission. After they are neutralized, it's last man standing. Got it?  
Klivian: Got it.  
Celchu: Understood. You are lead.Klivian: We could pair up... take out the Colonel.  
Emerie: Interesting offer, but I must decline. I do appreciate you confirming you aren't the biggest fish to shoot in this barrel, though.  
Klivian: Sithspit, I did, didn't I?Celchu: You are now the first fish I plan to shoot, buddy.  
Klivian: Sorry. Having hot pilots who know how to keep a tight formation at real speed has gone to my head. I didn't realize how much I've missed this kind of flying.

Emerie: Change of plan. Klivian with me, Averie with the Colonel. We strafe the trench from both ends and squeeze them in the middle. 

Emerie: X-wings launching in three. two. one. Now, we launch.  
Klivian: I'm on your wing.  
Emerie: Let's sprint to the far end. Tuck in tight. Full throttle. 

Klivian: Aaaah yeeeesss. I forget how it feels to go full throttle, even in a sim.  
Emerie: Rogues always this... chattery?  
Klivian: I guess.  
Emerie: If you were my wingmate, I'd slap a strip of emergency suit seal tape over your mouth.  
Klivian: Kinky. Would you cuff me with Imp issue binders, too?  
Emerie: Nope. That's Averie's area of expertise.  
Klivian: Good to know.

Emerie: Okay we're here. Cut throttle by one third.

Celchu: X-wings starting their run.  
Averie: We've got them on the move. They're coming at you, Em.

Celchu: Heh. One down.

Averie: Make that two.

Emerie: Almost in range...  
Klivian: In range... now. 

Klivian: Yes! Got that one.  
Emerie: Other one is mine.

Klivian: where'd she go? Ah ah ah... no you don't. You missed me, I'm still here.  
Celchu: No, you're not.  
Klivian: Gah... blast you, Colonel Sneaky... Kriff it...

Celchu: Klivian's out.  
Emerie: Averie's out too.  
Emerie: Just us, now.  
Celchu: Show me what you've got, kitten.  
Emerie: Come get me, Rogue. I'm not hiding. If we run the clock out, this ends in a stalemate. Very unsatisfying.  
Celchu: Wouldn't dream of leaving you unsatisfied.

Emerie: Close, but you missed me.  
Celchu: Just getting warmed up.

Celchu: Banged up a bit on that pass, but I'm still coming for you.

Emerie: This kitten has claws and teeth.

Celchu: Nice one, but you're trailing smoke. I got a piece of you.

Emerie: Not a big enough piece.

(Alarm sounds)

Celchu: What's that alarm?

Emerie: Two minute warning. Last pass. Come and get some.

Celchu: Already here. Hello, Kitten.

Emerie: Goodbye, Rogue.

It took Emerie a minute to realize the roaring wasn't coming from her the blood pounding in her ears from the sweet adrenaline rush of battling a worthy opponent. The noise originated outside her pod. 

Cheering? Why would anyone be cheering? The Colonel lost. She beat him in what was likely the very last few seconds before the whole system shut down on them as the countdown clock ran out. 

Emerie felt as rung dry as the timer. Sweat burned her eyes and pooled in the small of her back. 

Her screen lit up with a stream of information on the game's scoring: 

Maximum Hits Bonus

Head To Head Bonus

Team Bonus

Countdown Clock Bonus 

HIGH SCORE ACHIEVED  
LEGACY PILOT HONOR ACHEIVED  
ALL TIME RANKING - #1

"Are you going to sit in the pod all night and gloat over your points?" Klivian asked in her ear.

"I'm not gloating."

"The tiny holocam inside your helmet means we see SEE your face on the huge screens, and your smile looks like gloating to me."

Emerie winced, groaning. "Fine. I'm getting out."

Her attempt to jump down was thwarted by a sea of Wraiths at the foot of the ladder. When she turned and started to climb down, hands pulled her from the rungs and she found herself being carried over their heads out to the amphitheater and deposited on her feet in front of Colonel Celchu. 

The two pilots stared at each other for a few seconds, anything they would have said hopelessly lost in the cheers and catcalls and clapping.His hair was plastered to his forehead with perspiration, and Emerie imagined she looked just as bad. Her sweat chilled as it met the circulating cool air causing shivers. 

A smile broke across the Colonel's face as she sheepishly extended her bad hand to him for a handshake. When he moved, it wasn't to shake her hand, Celchu gathered her in his arms in a gentle hug and then proceeded to lift her off her feet, turning a circle with Emerie in the air. 

"Why are you so happy," she grumbled. "I won."

Her feet were returned to solid ground and he stepped back. "Yes, I lost, but I haven't had that much fun in ages. Hobbie was right. It feels good to go fast and hard in a TIE for the thrill of it. A game pure and simple." He put an arm carefully around her back and drew her hip to hip with him careful to stay on her good side. "Let's go see what you won." 

The Colonel's comment was said with such youthful enthusiasm, she had to laugh. "I just set a new all time highest score on this game."

"Your reign will be short. As soon as Wedge gets back from this latest leg of his tour, I'm bringing him here to play."

"Yes!" Hobbie called, as he moved to intercept them. "We must get Wedge to play with us in the sim. Can you imagine if we went a round against Wes, Gavin, Corran and Ooryl?"

Tycho gave him a good natured punch on the arm. "Traitor. Don't think I won't find some sort of revenge for trying to arrange to take me out."

"Hey, what about me? I want to play." Gavin asked, and Inyri nodded.

"You just have to WATCH the replay holos," Hobbie told the Colonel. "Those last ten minutes were like the instructional holos of my wildest dreams. Your head to head match-ups were way more exciting than anything either the New Republic or the Empire make up." He turned to Emerie and waved his good hand, "The kid did this thing at the end... It was kriffing fantastic flying. If I can get my hands on it, I'm going to send a copy to Wedge." 

Tycho sighed, "I'm not so sure he'll be interested, Hobbie."

"Are you kidding me?! Wedge is going to love it. Loran smuggled a pocket holo-recorder in for Piggy to get footage to analyze." At Tycho's surprised smile, he continued, "There has to be a temporary memory bank somewhere in Darkmatter Alley with this last sim run, at least temporarily, saved." He waved for a Wraith to come over and they put their heads together, whispering and gesturing.

Once the conference was over, Elassar Targon surprised Emerie by holding up a small, sparkly tiara. "To the winner, goes the crown." He placed it dramatically on top of her head, and she grinned because she could feel it was crooked.

People cheered. Lots of people. More people than when they went in. "Where did all these people come from?" Emerie muttered under her breath.

Tycho shrugged, "Other parts of Darkmatter? Drawn to investigate by the crowd's roar?" With a smirk, he leaned in and straighten the crown on her dark hair, pronouncing, "Such an adorable kitten."

"You two are the event of the night. The betting pools blew up: Rogues, Wraiths, and the Darkmatter kiosk."

This made Tycho's blue eyes grow wide, his eyebrows raised, "Really?"

"Top bet made a couple of hundred credits. Not in Darkmatter Alley game tokens, I'm talking real hard currency."

Emerie felt herself frowning at them. "Your fellow Rogue lost, Klivian. Why are you so happy?" She asked no one in particular.

"Why shouldn't we be happy someone beat him?" Inyri asked. "He beats us all the kriffing time."

Klivian agreed, "We rarely beat Tycho in any sims, and our CO needs the occasional take-down to keep his massive Alderaanian ego in check." When the man in question raised an imperious eyebrow at the other Rogue, Klivian hastened to add in a lower voice, "Or else his head would be too big to fit in his helmet. Wedge hasn't been around much lately and the Colonel's ego is at maximum tolerable puffiness."

"Puffiness?" Celchu glared at him.

Klivian opened his mouth, and then closed. "Never mind that. Let's go collect your winnings. Then, I want to buy you both a drink while we watch the replay."

Emerie shook her head. "I didn't make any bets on the sim."

"What?!" The Rogue looked at her in horror. "No bets?"

"I get a bucket of tokens for the win. I still have the tokens banked from last night, too."

"She didn't make a bet."

The Colonel turned his head to look at her, puzzled. "Really?"Her shrug lifted his arm a little where it rested behind her back. "It's not that I don't bet, I just figured it was pretty even odds, with you being old and out of form from all your years behind X-wing shields, and me being injured and tired."The Colonel pulled away from her, looking at her incredulously for half a second before he erupted with laughter.

"Ouch, pretty young thing called you old and rusty, Colonel, and with such an adorably earnest face. That must hurt. Have I mentioned yet I'm really starting to like her?"

"Keep it up, Hobbie, and you may wake up bald."

The crowded melted to let them pass and they stepped to the betting kiosk where Tycho scanned his slip and did the thumbprint ID scan. A bell clanged loudly from inside the top half of the stupid machine. It drew the attention of literally everyone. A bunch of people shifted in their direction to find out what the commotion was. 

"Sithspit," Hobbie gasped at Tycho. "You won four hundred fifty New Republic credits. What did you bet?"

Face appeared beside them with a smirk on his face, "Colonel Celchu bet twenty five credits on Emerie. I saw him."

"I did."

"You bet on me? Why would you do that?"

The Colonel gave her a look of amusement, "Because I'm old and rusty and too used to flying with shields."

"Oh. OH. I'm sorry I said that. It was rude of me, wasn't it? And you've been so kind to me tonight."

Loran patted the Colonel on the shoulder. "You'll get used to the young Lieutenant's bluntness. Then, it will be refreshing and even endearing."

"It's a bit like having a bucket of ice water thrown on you when you aren't expecting it," Shalla Nelprin agreed. 

"You and your identical sister must come with us," Wraith Dia Passik told Emerie. "The victory party requires a wardrobe change."

Emerie looked to Tycho for help, but he just smiled at her and went back to counting his cred notes. "Thanks for the back-up," she called to him as the Wraith females steered her away toward the arena exit. She did note they had Averie trapped and moving as well. 

"Those aren't my monkey-lizards..." the Colonel called to her, in the way of an explanation. 

<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>

Apparently, one of the suites on the third floor had enough space for a group of women to shower, change and make-up the faces of two captive teenagers. 

"So I got these dresses for you, we thought you might like something other than a jumpsuit." Tyria Sarkin held up a knee length black, sleeveless sheath dress with a diagonal slash of bright blue fabric across the hip to the opposite hem matching the vivid color of Emerie's hair tips. A second identical dress was produced with a bright fuscia slash also matching Averie. 

"Where did you get dresses perfectly matched to us in one day?" Averie asked, clearly stunned. 

"You don't want an answer," Shalla told her. "Tyria just has her ways. We don't question her magic. I bet they fit perfectly, though."

Emerie eyed the scoop neckline with a surge of panic. They expected her to wear a dress which left her neck and shoulder scars visible. Clutching the fluffy white robe, Emerie shook her head, "I can't... People will see my scars."

"Scars are a symbol of strength," the Twi'lek pilot told her. "You should show them off with pride. You are strong. You survived a fierce battle other pilots did not survive."

Emerie let them pull the robe from her shoulders, and she stiffened when Shalla hissed and winced at the pink crisscross pattern from the top of her right breast up over her right shoulder down to the bottom of her shoulder blade and across her collarbone and neck from the left shoulder to right. 

"Sithspit," Tyria cursed, her tone awed. "No wonder I couldn't heal it all by myself."

Emerie frowned, "You helped."

The Wraith, Dia, pressed a featherlight kiss to her right shoulder blade. "These are still new. You are indeed brave."

"I don't feel brave. I feel afraid, all the time."

The woman bared her teeth in a pleased smile. "And yet, you chose to come tonight to a place filled with those you view as enemies, at our request, to challenge our best pilots to a duel and affirmed your honor. There is courage in that. Rogue Squadron has not beaten you. Your injury has not broken you."

"Time?" Shalla asked Tyria, who was busy lining Averie's eyes with kohl and glossing her lips.

"Twenty-one minutes."

"We're out of time."

Tyria nodded, "Almost done. Check the pocket of the dress bag. I brought scarves."

Before she knew it, the Wraith was back with a filmy strip of silky black material which she proceeded to wrap once loosely around Emerie's neck artfully hiding most of the scars and tucking the ends into the dress' bodice like it belonged there. 

The woman brushed and fluffed her hair, then put lip dye on her mouth, all while saying, "I'm with Dia on this, I don't think you need to hide the scars," Shalla told her. "But, I totally understand not wanting that sort of attention from strangers."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Blue."

"Five minute warning. We still have to get to the Starlight, ladies. I'll take rear guard, Tyria has point."

"Shoes?" 

Someone put the silly sparkly crown back on top of her head.

"Check. Check."

"Out. Move. Now." Shalla ordered and they all obeyed. The woman smiled at her puzzled look, "This is a timed practice... for missions. Quick wardrobe change drill: 30 minutes."

The group crossed the main floor, Wraiths' eyes scanning in all directions for enemies, like they would on a real mission. 

Their group drew to a halt before Loran and he looked down at his wrist unit. "Sixteen seconds to spare. Not bad. Let's see how you did." He walked around the twins. Looking them up and down with a critical eye. "The scarf gets bonus points. I wondered if Lt. Santhe would be willing to wear a dress that didn't cover her scars."

"I almost didn't," Emerie told him. "I don't even let Averie see the scars, if I can help it."

Face nodded, "I understand. It's hard for you to look at, most of all." 

"Yeah."

The scarred former child actor turned squadron commander took her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles in a courtly gesture. "My professional opinion... You look beautiful."

Her cheeks flushed, "Thanks."

"And you blush adorably." He smirked, playfully teasing her. 

A thought occurred to her, "So, the Wraiths passed the test?"

"Absolutely," he said, practically beaming like a proud parent. 

This amused Emerie, and made her wonder what he was like as a CO. He didn't have the military bearing Colonel Celchu carried, but she imagined the actor could fake it if the situation called for it. "So, we passed your little test, Captain. What happens now?"

"Now, Lieutenant, we dance. You can dance, right?"

Emerie didn't really want to dance, but she nodded, "Yeah."

"Just one dance, then you should sit for a bit." They moved well together through the dance steps, and Emerie didn't mind dancing so much now that she was doing it. The tiredness faded with the music and laughter and general air of festivity. 

"I'm okay," she assured Loran. 

"Good. I see at least one Rogue who would like to dance with you."

"Black curly hair with dark eyes and the broad shoulders, I hope."

Loran almost missed a step in the dance, but caught himself. "You mean Janson?"

"Uh, yeah."

"The Colonel filled me in that he said some unpleasant things to your twin in the bar."

"He thought she was me."

"And knowing this you want to dance with him? I don't know that if plan would end well. I'd recommend the Colonel or Darklighter."

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After most of the victory party party tired and wandered away to home or other pursuits, Wes made his move. Tycho and Winter were dancing themselves, as were Face and Dia. They didn't see him approach the bar at the far end where Averie was occupying a stool and watching her sister chatting at a table with Tyria and Kell. 

"I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted."

"Good. Want to dance?"

Averie looked him up and down. "On one condition."

"Name it."

"Stop looking at my sister like she's breaking your heart. I know for a fact she has never laid eyes on you before today. Emerie doesn't need your lame Rogue pity."

Wes flinched, and felt his cheeks growing uncomfortably warm with embarrassment. Had he been looking at the young woman that way. Sure, watching her dance with Gavin and Tycho and even Winter to a certain degree had made him vaguely unhappy. "I didn't realize... I don't pity her. I sympathize with what she has been through, that's all."

"Why?"

Wes didn't want to tell her, but he could understand a twin's need to protect their other half and he respected it. "A few months before the battle where we found Emerie," Wes said, and then stopped awkwardly because what he meant was more like 'before we attacked the convoy and killed all the pilots except for your sister whom we found broken and barely clinging to life in the wreckage of her fighter'. He took a deep breath and pressed on, "I was injured in an ambush and went EV. I came to on a strange ship, and I thought the Rogues were dead. Not something I ever want to repeat, especially the time I spent in hard vacuum. Messed with my head, and seeing Emerie experience events similar too soon after my own experience brought it back hard."

"Do you have night terrors?"

"Sometimes. Not as much as time goes on. I'm in therapy and when I wake up from one I draw or write or go to the gym on base and beat the punching bags until I'm okay."

"I think Emerie would be better if she could punch something once in a while. She copes with the dreams and the pain by falling into a bottle."

The Major nodded, "I see it happen to pilots all the time. It's a slow death by degrees."

"What do I do? How do I save her?" Averie asked, bitter and hopeless. 

"Let me try. Please. Let me try to reach her."

She narrowed pale lavender eyes at him. Lavender. Not the blue of Emerie's. Though he already knew they weren't completely identical. They might have been once, before Emerie joined the Empire and she started on whatever the Imps gave their pilots to turn them into killing machines rather than thinking, feeling beings. 

"What's your big plan?"

"I'm going to hold her."

"That's it?" Her tone was beyond skeptical. 

Wes shrugged, "It's what I've desperately needed to do for months. Since I saw her unconscious in the bacta tank."

Averie looked into his eyes. "Why ask me? Why not just approach her yourself?"

"Because you and Tycho and Winter have been keeping her covered, and I need you to back off and just let me take a run at this. One dance. If she rejects the advance, I'll leave. You have my word."

"Fine. Whatever. I think you are full of poodoo with this, but I'll give you one shot. You can dance with me, first."

"That was also in my plan."

Wes took her hand in his and led her to the dance floor, the song just starting was slow and most of the beings on the dance floor clung to each other in pairs or triads. She wrapped arms around his neck and he rested his big hands lightly on her hips. They kept a small amount of space between their bodies as they swayed in time to the exotic, sensual beat. As first dances went, it took each of them a few minutes to start to relax. And just as he started to enjoy the dance, he heard Averie curse softly under her breath and she went stiff and unmoving. 

"What is it?"

"Emerie. She's... shavit. She's spotted us, and she doesn't look happy."

Wes turned his head to where he had last seen Emerie and when he found her, she wore a stricken expression. Hurt eyes watched them on the dance floor and her face was ghostly pale under the dance clubs garish multihued lighting. "Sithspit."

"Now what?"

Janson let her go and started across the floor, weaving in and out of bodies. It wasn't until he was only a few meters from her, he noticed her lashes were clumped with tears. "Emerie..."

"What do you want?" The young pilot asked, hoarsely.

"Dance with me."

No."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I said so." It was an automatic response ingrained in his psyche from having so many younger siblings. "Because I need to dance with you, right now, or I'm going to die of a broken heart." There. That sounded equally idiotic, but more accurate.

This got her attention. Her eyes widened in surprise and then just as quickly narrowed in anger. "Go dance with Averie, again. Go back to dancing with every other female in this club."

"You go back to dancing with every male... and a few females, too."

"I'm... I'm tired," she told him, her voice cracking and tears welling. "So tired."

Wes reached for her hand. He took it in his and kissed her knuckles. "One dance, Emmie. Just one and I swear, then I'll help you upstairs to a room where you can sleep."

The TIE pilot stood in answer and let herself be led to the dance floor. She melted into his arms exactly the way Wes knew she would, like she was a part of him and they clicked into place together and locked tightly, as securely as his X-wing's harness. 

Emerie sighed against his shoulder, turned her face into his neck. Her breath tickled.

"Oh, Force," he whispered. "You feel so good in my arms."

"Were you trying to make me jealous?"

"Were you trying the same on me?"

"Yes."

"It worked. We are both hurting, now. Can we try not hurting each other next?"

"You were awful to my sister."

"I was."

"Why?" She lifted her head to look into his eyes. "It's me you should hate."

"I don't. I do NOT hate you, Emerie. Something came over me when I saw your sister, healthy and well rested... breathtaking." He felt her stiffen a little and he rubbed soothing circles on her back until she relaxed, again. "I felt a fool for spending months worrying she might be back with the Empire getting shot up or dead, or she might wake every night shivering from the cold of space screaming in terror and have nobody to hold her until the dream faded enough to allow her to go back to sleep. She was here on Coruscant for months having a great time and visiting one of my favorite places and it made me mad."

"Then, you saw the real me..."

"Yeah, I did. And I knew I'd found the pilot from the bacta tank. Although, you are leaner than you were and more pale. Your face is thinner, almost gaunt, and your eyes get a haunted, far away look when you think nobody is watching you."

Emerie huffed. "I look like hell."

"I would never something so thoughtless. Not just because I have a bunch of sisters and I know how fragile pilot and teenage girl egos are."

"Why not?"

"You are far more beautiful to me than your sister, because I can see into your soul. I've experienced what you have been through and I wanted to pull you out of your bacta tank and hug you. Your heart stopped and my first thought was 'don't you dare die on me, I only just found you. I haven't even seen your smile, yet.'"

Her whole body shook in his arms, but he pulled her closer, holding tight as she sniffled. "Liar."

"Tell me I'm wrong about the nightmares. Tell you don't drink too much and eat too little in your depression." She whimpered in response. "Tell me you don't feel it like I do right now, Emmie. We fit like a glove. I knew the first time I laid eyes on you we would."

Against the side of his neck she mouthed, "Nobody calls me 'Emmie'."

"I do. I have for months in my head. You just have to suck it up and get used to it."

"Why do you feel so good? It's wrong for me to feel this safe in your arms."

"You're safe, now."

"I feel like I could sleep. Really sleep, if you were holding me."

"Sounds like a plan." 

Emerie didn't resist. They made their way upstairs to the third floor and found an unoccupied privacy room with a huge bed piled with soft fluffy pillows. Kicking off their shoes had been the most undressing they could manage. Spooned together in the center of the bed, they were both soundly asleep for more than nine hours. 

When Wes woke, Emerie had been gone, although not for very long. He'd expected nothing more or less of their first engagement. He didn't doubt their paths would cross again in the near future. He would make sure of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes and formatting woes are all mine. Please forgive. Feedback is welcome. Especially the next few chapters.


	6. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've always wanted to write a Luke/Mara fic where she gives him some insight into what her life was like as a young Emperor's Hand. Post Thrawn Duology.
> 
> Warning: attempted suicide and memories of attempted suicide, past non-con/dubious consent sex and Mara/Luke feels.

"So what are we going to do with her?" Jedi Master Luke Skywalker asked his companion, throwing concerned glance at the people walking past and gawking as he and Mara knelt beside the semi-conscious young woman where she had collapsed in the Imperial Palace corridor, near the main lifts leading to all the public levels. As she slipped back into semi-consciousness, Luke could feel a thread of panic rising in his chest. 

He wasn't a medic, and clearly this person needed a medic, not a pair of Jedi. "Her shoulder is injured. I just assumed she was drunk, at first. I've seen my share of drunken ground crew and pilots, but then..." He frowned and shook his head. "I can feel chemicals... too much to be normal... mixed into the pain and gin. Nobody would take narcotic pain meds and also drink a lethal amount of alcohol accidentally. I'm open to suggestions..."  
  
His beloved redhead Jedi gave him a sidelong glance, judging what she was going to say carefully as she sometimes did even now when they were partners and lovers. "I agree this was not an accident. As for what to do... we could do what the Emperor had Vader do to me when I tried this sort of a stunt on myself..."  
  
"Mara. No," Luke gasped. "You didn't."

"I did."

"But why would you attempt to kill yourself? And... Uh, I... don't think I even want to know what the Emperor and Vader did to you," Luke shuddered, feeling sick. "I think I want to pass on emulating my father."  
  
Mara rolled her eyes, not hiding her exasperation. "We could walk away, get a nice dinner in a restaurant on the next level, and let her overdose here in the hallway."  
  
"Not even something to joke about. She got this far, so I'm going to assume she has an access card to the Palace guest wing. I think she must live in one of the guest suites. If we find her destination, we can call for an MD droid to come and do something for her."  
  
Mara shook her head in mock disappointment. "Honestly, Skywalker. Do you trust me, or not?"

"I trust you, Mara. If you know what we need to do, please, you take lead."

"We don't know how many pills she ingested or how long she was passing out and waking up before those people found her and alerted us. We may not have much time," Mara insisted. She hefted the young woman up and over her shoulder, only wincing a little at the frantic cry of pain when her shoulder injuries were abused, and stood up to her full height. 

Shifting the slight body further over her shoulder until the girl's head was hanging nearly to the small of her back, Mara walked over to the walkway's low railing and turned around, so the kid's face was out over empty space and the lovely garden two levels below.  
  
"Oh! Put me down..." the young woman moaned. "Oh, please… I'm going to be sick," she whimpered, piteously.  
  
"Why yes, yes you are," Mara assured her, and then muttered under her breath, "Better sick, and mortally embarrassed, than dead."  
  
Luke met her eyes and his face turned a lovely shade of green as their charge vomited up pills and alcohol and what seemed like every meal she'd eaten in her entire life.  
  
Mara felt her lips twitch into a smirk as Luke and a few bystanders who hadn't moved on with their lives looked on nervously. 

"Mara... Please, don't drop her..."  
  
"If I drop her, which is not likely because she weighs less than my holdout blaster, the girl gets what she wants... dead."   
  
After what seemed like an eternity, Luke said, "It sounds like she's done... maybe you can put her down, now?"  
  
Mara grunted a curse under her breath and shifted the girl. "When I did this to myself, the Emperor had Darth Vader hold me by my ankles with the Force upside down until my head nearly exploded and I expelled the bottle of pills and nearly an entire liter of cheap whiskey. Palpatine made me clean up the mess I made on his Throne Room floor before graciously allowing me permission to slink off to my quarters to suffer my vicious hangover in private.   
  
"And the fact that Lord Vader save me from dying, rather than the Emperor doing it himself, made everything worse. Palatine knew I would rather die than have my life saved by anyone, especially Darth Vader."  
  
Skywalker bit his lower lip to keep from smiling and Mara glared lasers at him for it. "I heard our friend here mention Winter before she collapsed. You could make yourself useful, Master Skywalker, and tag Lady Winter. Maybe, inquire if New Republic Intelligence has misplaced a scrawny, black haired teen who went tipped turbolaser and drank up the contents of an entire liquor kiosk? Escapee from a freak show like Wraith Squadron, possibly?"

"Please, don't hold back, Mara. Do tell me what you really think of Wraith Squadron," Luke chided her. 

Mara lowered the kid gingerly back onto her wobbly legs, "Easy now. I'm letting you down." She raced to get a bracing arm around her on the side opposite the bad shoulder when the girl started to sink to the polished marble of the Palace walkway, again. She murmured soothing words in her ear, "Easy now. I know it doesn't seem like it, but we are here to help you."

"What I really think is I owe Captain Loran a black eye for showing up with his misfits of destruction and botching two of the Smuggler's Alliance's most lucrative trade deals in the last six weeks." She pulled clean square of cloth from a jumpsuit pocket and helped the girl wipe the mixture of kohl eyeliner, sweat, tears, and vomit from her face.   
  
As an afterthought, Mara pushed back the sleeve over the teen's right arm and was not surprised to see the small circular logo for Royal Academy tattooed on the pale skin of her forearm, just before the bend of her elbow. The Jedi was mildly surprised to find a second circle tattoo with an S which she knew was for Skystrike.  
  
"You know what Imperials call a TIE pilot who attended two Imperial Academies?"  
  
Luke's eye widened in surprise, "Two? I have no idea..."  
  
"Deadly Double," Mara informed him. "Quite a rare distinction." 

"For all the good it did me... Rogues..." the young woman muttered.  
  
Mara frowned at her, but it was Skywalker who asked, "Rogue Squadron?"  
  
"Just said that..."  
  
Mara leveled a quelling look at her and the smart mouth grudgingly snapped shut, but her expression remained groggily petulant. Typical response for her age and maturity level in Mara's experience.  
  
"Celchu shoulda killed me. Almost did, but they said the other Rogue saved me... big, curly haired... oaf."  
  
Luke and Mara shared a look, "Janson."  
  
"I hope you realize her shoulder wound is going to require a healing trance. Yavin IV is going to have to wait for our return, again."  
  
"I know, " Luke conceded. "Look on the bright side, Mara. You, Tyria and Corran have all been asking for more practice with your healing trances. Fate just handed us a volunteer." 

"Perfect. And between you and Horn, we can add two more Rogues to the list of people this TIE pilot will not thank for saving her life."

Luke's comlink chirped. He held it to his ear and listened. "Tycho says Winter is currently in a meeting with Leia, but he can meet us outside guest suite 824 in a few minutes. Apparently, Emerie is known to them... and to Wraith Squadron."  
  
Mara smirked at him, "Nailed it."  
  
"So you did."

"I know where 824 is. You carry our volunteer, and I will navigate."

When Luke picked the girl up in his arms, she promptly turned her head and vomited on his boots. 

"Oh, did I forget to warn you she would probably do that?" Mara teased him. 

Luke wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Thanks for the warning. These are my best boots."

"They were your best boots before Endor, they've seen better days. Now, we can go boot shopping on our way back to Yavin IV. I happen to know the best boot maker in the galaxy lives aboard the Errant Venture."

Luke raised an eyebrow at her. "How do you know?" 

"Mirax Terrik told me. He's an old friend of her father, Booster."

"Good old Booster. Well, I haven't been chased off the Errant Venture since that time with Han and Lando."

<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>

"Emerie? What's happened?" Tycho asked anxiously, as they met him outside a set of double doors beside a small wall plaque with 'Suite 824' in elaborately scrolling gold text. He swiped a card and the double doors slid apart. 

Mara Jade raised an eyebrow at the Rogue, and he shrugged almost sheepishly. "Winter had a spare keycard made."

Now, Luke was looking at him, too. 

"The Lady Santhe had this suite before the Empire fell. It was never reassigned since the New Republic set up housekeeping, so Winter secured it for her great granddaughters, as a gesture of goodwill."

"How magnanimous of the New Republic," the redheaded Jedi said, sourly.

Tycho frowned at her, then turned his attention to Emerie when she issued a soft moan and shuddered. 

Jade put a hand on his arm in warning. "I would step back, if I were you, Colonel. I'm not sure she's finished purging the alcohol. We drew a crowd and Skywalker made me let her down too soon."

Luke pushed past them as he hurried into the suite frantically searching for a door which would lead to a refresher. 

"Second door on the right," Tycho called to him. "Our suite follows the same basic design." The sound of Emerie retching within the refresher made the Alderaanian Rogue wince. 

"We might as well make ourselves comfortable, this could take a while," Mara said.

Tycho didn't move. "What happened?"

"We heard shouts near the lifts and went to investigate. A couple was standing over your young friend where she collapsed in the walkway, out of her mind from a combination of pain, pain meds and alcohol."

"How much did she take?"Mara shrugged uncomfortably, but didn't sugar coat it. "Enough to kill her several times over. The pills are out of her stomach, and most of the alcohol. Skywalker will remove the intoxicants from her blood before her organs fail, but it may take days in a Jedi healing trance to fix her damaged shoulder." 

His sense in the Force a mixture of worry and sadness bordering on grief. With more than enough guilt thrown in to tell her the man was genuine in his concern for the pretty little enemy pilot. 

He sagged a little where he was leaning against the wall. "She was injured...""You shot her up, and I'm sure she didn't give you any other choice. She asked to see Winter when we tried to rouse her the first time."

"Emerie refused to take any narcotics for pain for months," Tycho told her. Then, he frowned, "Tyria Sarkin tried to heal her shoulder with the Force twice, and she was at least marginally successful. Though she feared the effect of her healing was temporary, and the Wraiths have been off-world since then."

"I am aware," Mara told him frostily. "They mucked up one of the most lucrative deals I've had all year just last week. The seller packed up and walked with the items I wanted before we could finalize the payment and delivery arrangements." "Ouch."

Mara gave him a smile, all malice and white teeth. "Funny, that is exactly what Loran is going to say next time I see him."

"Tell me what you need from me, and you'll have it," Celchu told the Jedi.

Mara considered logistics. "This place is as good as any for a staging area. Food and other necessities can be delivered at all hours here in the Palace, and medical support is a call away. Having Horn take a few shifts would help."

The Colonel nodded agreement agreement. "You can have Corran Horn for as long as necessary. Anything else?"

"Are the Wraiths back on planet? We could use Sarkin, as well."

"I'll make a call to Loran, and to Emerie's twin sister. I can't imagine she is going to take this well..."

Mara wondered if the twin could feel something was wrong the way Luke could with his sister, and then pushed the thought aside as the doors to the suite opened to admit Winter followed closely by Leia. 

The refresher door opened at nearly the same moment and Luke stepped out with the young woman limp and pale in his arms. 

"Oh, no." Winter gasped, "No. No." She went to Luke's side and stared down at the TIE pilot in horror. "Please tell me she didn't..." Her teeth worried her lower lip and for a moment Mara wondered how close the couple was to this young woman. "I got the prescription filled for Emerie here in the Palace. I was trying to help. This is MY fault."

"No, Winter," Luke assured her. "You mustn't blame yourself for this. If you could feel the amount of pain Emerie is in... I can't imagine how she could endure it and not break down. We can't blame her for trying to escape her pain." He placed the limp form into Winter's arms. "I've got her blood filtered and she's comfortable enough to sleep."

Mara stepped in with a brisk efficiency she knew would put them all more at ease, "Let's get her cleaned up and ready for a long, long nap."

"Has anyone called Averie?" Winter asked."I was just about to," Celchu assured her. "Then, I'll get our Jedi Rogue to bring dinner here for everyone."

"How can I help?" Leia offered. 

Mara gave her a small, evil smile. "If you call NRI, they might tell you if Wraith Squadron is back from their latest mission."

"Mara..." Luke admonished. "Please. Violence isn't the answer."

She narrowed her eyes at him, insisting, "It is if you ask the right question."

"Do you need to file a complaint, too?" Leia asked her, a crease forming between her brows. "General Cracken is buried under a mountain of complaints lodged against Loran and his people."

"We could use Tyria Sarkin's help with the healing trance... And I would enjoy a private word with her CO."

Luke patted her arm, soothingly. "Mara would rather hit Loran than file a complaint, but I'm trying to convince her it's not a dignified way for a Jedi to resolve a conflict." 

"I only need five minutes," Mara insisted. "And Loran will learn not to mess with the Smugglers' Alliance."

Leia shoulders slumped as she asked, "How much did they cost you?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, Mara retorted, "More than I am willing to disclose to the New Republic."

The Princess blew out a breath. "Fine. You have my blessing. Punch Loran, if it makes you feel better. Nothing we've tried has curbed his squadron's tendency to leave a path of devastation in their wake. I would like to help with the healing trance, as well. I can make some time in my schedule. It would be nice to learn something more useful than swinging a practice lightsaber around and lifting small rocks."

Luke smiled at his sister and nodded, approvingly. "Absolutely."

Winter carried Emerie into the bedroom and gingerly placed her on her bed. She and Mara peeled off her boots, soiled jumpsuit and undershirt, then slipped on loose sleep pants and a soft, sleeveless workout top found in a drawer in her dresser. 

Pink puckered scars, testimonies to multiple surgeries, covered the skin of neck and shoulder. Mara studied them with pity. 

"You should have seen all the rows of sutures when they were fresh," Winter told her, as she pulled the sheet and coverlet up over Emerie. "I wouldn't make a good medic," the Alderaanian woman confessed.

Mara nodded, "Rough gig, medicine." 

The newest Jedi in Luke's fledgling Order had something she needed to say to the other woman, while they were alone. "You didn't cause Emerie to try to take her life. It's not your fault for helping her get the prescription pills. The kid would have found something stronger in an alley from some lowlife, and it might have been too late to save her if she'd been cranked on unpredictable street drugs. What matters is Emerie will live. We can help her by taking this pain away for her... permanently."

"Thank you."

Mara nodded. "She's not the first teenager to only see one exit from a dark place." "You sound like the voice of experience."

With a shrug, Jade confessed, "This is what happens to people who join up with the Empire. The Empire's toys get broken. Most of the time nobody cares. The Empire sure doesn't. They get swapped out for replacements. Life is cheap."

"Not true. Life is precious," Winter insisted. "Sentient beings aren't interchangeable spare parts."

A small smile played on Mara's lips. "You sincerely believe that.""Of course, I do."

"The kid is lucky to have you and Colonel Celchu looking out for her." 

"She has you, too. You knew how to save Emerie's life. We are lucky to have Jedi like you come to our side."

"Skywalker would have figured it out. He's the soft hearted one."

"Luke is a good man. You've found a solid partner in him."

"Yeah, I guess I have."

"And he loves you." 

"I suppose he does."

<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>

"You know you don't have to tell me," Luke told Mara on the third day of their vigil. It was late into the night. They took the late shift while everyone else got rest. "I won't pry."

Mara nodded, "I know, and I appreciate that about you." 

They sat in silence for a while, then she asked, "Do you want to know what he said to me, Skywalker?"

"I can only imagine."

"'You are my Hand, Mara Jade'," Mara rumbled, in a fairly accurate impersonation of the Emperor's gravelly tone. "'Mine, and you do not choose when you will die. I decide when it is time for you to die. If you attempt to take your life from me, again, I will make you regret it. You will suffer and be denied the mercy of death'." 

Mara shuddered, and she noted Luke did, too. 

"The Galaxy is a much better place without him," Luke stated.

Mara nodded, grimly. "I agree. In hindsight, I think my suicide attempt surprised him. I doubt Palpatine knew how fragile teenage girls are. Or maybe he knew and didn't kriffing care when there was a mission to be completed. 

"An Ambassador took an interest in me. I caught his eye while disguised as a dancing girl at a party. I was very convincing in my role I'll have you know, and I enjoyed the dancing. The target was a traitor to the Empire, but action required proof and the Ambassador's source for some very sensitive information being leaked to newly forming rebel cells. The Emperor offered me to him for a night." 

She took a sip of her wine. "I was sixteen, or close enough according to the records Palpatine had on me. I'd never been intimate with a man. That was the point, really. The Ambassador preferred young, virginal females. Palpatine commanded me to seduce him, to have sex with him, and after... I was to use my training to get a confession out of him. I wasn't completely naive, I had courses in anatomy and physiology which included sexuality. Not to mention the indiscreet liaisons I'd stumbled upon living here in the Palace..."

Mara shook her head. "Once he confessed, Palpatine had the traitor very publicly executed. I can't say I was sorry for it, though he wasn't rough with me, or cruel. He just... he was not MY choice."

"No, I don't imagine he was." 

She pushed on with her tale with a deep breath. "Thankfully, I was rarely called on to seduce a target and get information. And only once did I have to spend months in a feigned relationship pretending to enjoy a man's attentions. I was more useful as an assassin." Mara hugged herself briefly at the memory.

"Some things are too much to ask of a teenage girl, Luke, even one you are training as your personal shadow assassin. I felt humiliated, ashamed and... filthy." Mara poured herself another glass of wine, something she almost never did. "It's my body and only I decide who touches me and when. After Palpatine died, I seduced a few men, and one woman, because I wanted to exercise my freedom, my choice."

Luke took a long swallow of his Lomin Ale. "So, if things had gone according to the Emperor's grand design..."

"You would have died at Jabba's Palace?" Mara offered, helpfully.

"If I survived Jabba's palace," Luke corrected, patiently. "But turned to the dark side at Endor to save Leia and Han..."

Mara barked a laugh. "Don't flatter yourself, Skywalker. I still would have hated you and wanted you dead. And Palpatine would have executed everyone. The Rebels. Your sister. Han Solo and Chewbacca. And if you started to fall for me, Farmboy, he'd have killed me, too, the minute I ceased being a lever he could use against you."

"It's a good thing my father killed him, then. Wait. Does that make it twice Vader saved your life?"

"Shut up, Skywalker," Mara groused. Then, she stood, stretching her back muscles, and crossed the room to the bed where the TIE pilot was sleeping in her healing trance and gently brushed a stray lock of black and blue hair from her cheek. "The Empire is full of vile, contemptible scum who prey on youth and naivety. Emerie's tough and she made it to the top before Rogue Squadron knocked her down."

"You aren't one to give praise lightly, but I agree with you. Just look at how much pain Emerie endured before it broke her."

Mara turned to look at him, a slight scowl on her face. "After everything we do for her, she will join the 181st."

"Yes, but we can't choose Emerie's path for her," the Jedi Master murmured. "Her freedom, her choice." He echoed Mara's own words back to her. 

"Rogue Squadron will kill her, next time. You know, right? Probably break hearts, but Celchu or Janson will take the kill shot."Luke sighed, deeply saddened. "Or she could kill one of them. I sincerely hope neither of those scenarios comes to pass. Tycho said she put a Rogue, Gavin Darklighter, into the bacta tank next to hers with a concussion and a badly broken jaw." Luke joined Mara at the head of the bed. "Emerie will be back. This young TIE pilot is not going to find what she needs with the Empire." "And what exactly do you think she needs?" Mara placed a hand on the teen's upper arm to send a warm wave of healing energy from herself to the injured pilot. "Besides common sense, life experience and maturity?" 

His eyes drifted closed as he, too, sent his Force energy into their patient. The Force told Luke what Emerie Santhe needed. "Camaraderie. Acceptance. Love. Wraiths. Rogues."

Mara flinched, her lovely mouth twisting in distaste like she'd swallowed something rotten. "Figures. Now, the kid's earned my pity. Nobody deserves Wraith Squadron in their future."

"Tyria Sarkin is going to make a fine Jedi Knight. Just as Corran Horn has proven to be."

The redhead rolled her eyes and gave a disgusted huff of disapproval. "Sarkin mucked this up in typical Wraith fashion. Why didn't she bring Santhe to you for healing in the first place?"

"Because she thought I was back on Yavin IV. I did tell her I was going back, and she couldn't have known we had been delayed in leaving." Luke leaned a little bit and pressed his lips to Mara's cheek, she didn't seem to mind. "And the Wraiths aren't so bad when you get to know them."

"Pass." Her brows drew together. "Why are you smiling?"

Luke's smile grew broader. "You, being all protective of a stranger, it's just..."

"Just what?" Mara demanded.

"I love you, Mara," Luke told her, with what she would no doubt call his 'farmboy earnestness'. "And I'm glad you trust me enough to show me your secret scars."

"Uh huh. You dodged the question."

Luke pulled Mara to him and hugged her. In her ear, he whispered, "It shows your commitment to being a Jedi and helping where you are needed. And... it's sweet."

"I am not sweet," Mara grumbled. 

"And hot."

"I accept hot, but I'm definitely not sweet."

They kissed and to Luke it was very sweet. And hot.

<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>_<>

"Emerie? Are you awake?"

"Yeah, I... I'm awake."

"What happened to you?""I tried, Ava. I swear I tried, but even the pills didn't take the edge off the pain, and I needed it to stop."

There was a long silence, and then her sister asked, "How do you feel, Em? Are you hurting?"

Emerie hesitated. "I'm afraid to move, Ava."

"Let me go get Master Skywalker and the Jedi. They had you in a healing sleep for days."

"Please, don't leave me..."

"Hey, it's okay. I won't go if you need me here."

"I don't remember much after I took the pills," Emerie confessed. Averie nodded, "Probably a good thing. You were out of your mind. People found you passed out in one of the corridors."

"Sorry."

"I'm sorry, too, Em," Averie said. "It was so hard to watch you suffer. I didn't know how to help."

The door opened and trio of robed figures, and Tyria Sarkin in an orange jumpsuit, filed into Emerie's bedroom. Tyria took the lead and came to perch a hip on the bed near Emerie's shoulder. "Welcome back. How about we sit you up and you can tell us how you feel?"

"Okay."

Tyria helped her to sit up, piling the pillows between her back and the headboard to prop her up. "Good?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Pain?" 

Emerie paused to take inventory. "None. No pain." She gave a half smile to Tyria and the three Jedi she didn't know. "Thank you."

The man who approached the bed had a familiar face and Emerie's eyes widened in surprise. "Are you Luke Skywalker?"

"I am."

"You healed me? But you were the founder of Rogue Squadron, and I'm a TIE pilot."

Skywalker's mouth quirked up in a small, kind smile. "I'm not the CO of the Rogues anymore, I'm a Jedi Master. You were in pain. A Jedi would never turn away someone who is suffering as you were, no matter who you fly for. Though, Tycho tells me you are an exceptional pilot, and I imagine the New Republic would love to get you flying for them. And I have a feeling the offer will also apply to your twin and her skills, as well."

"Are you sure I'm healed? Permanently?" 

"You are." 

Emerie's cheeks burned, as did her eyes. "I don't know what to say. Thank you doesn't seem enough. You saved my life. The injuries are finally healed. I don't even know all your names."

One of the other Jedi, a woman with long red-gold hair, approached them, offering her a hand. "Mara Jade. Jedi Knight." She glanced over her shoulder and jerked a thumb at a short, dark haired man. "That is Corran Horn, also a Jedi Knight, and a pilot in Rogue Squadron." Mara Jade smirked, "You seem to have picked up a couple of Rogues on your tail. I would suggest shaking them off if you plan to go back to the Empire." 

Emerie smiled. "Or?"

"I have a feeling Horn is preparing a twelve point lecture on why you should not join the 181st." 

The teen eyed Horn, suspiciously. "Do you have a lecture prepared for me?"

The man stepped closer to the others beside the bed. His eyes lit with humor. "I don't need twelve points. Three points should be enough." Then, he shrugged, "It's your life, kid. You have to make your own way in it, but you should know you'll break more than one Rogue heart when you go." 

Emerie grinned, eyes rolling. "Broken hearts? That's all you got?"

"Two: the Empire is dying. Three: those left in Empire at this point are pure evil." At the widening of her smile, Horn said, "Speaking of evil, Mara has a present for you." 

In her hands, Mara Jade held something black, made of leather. She offered the small bundle to Emerie. "You'll need this if you decide to return to the Empire. You're too good for them, Santhe, but it's not our call to make." 

The black leather was a belt, worn with use, but unmistakably Imperial issue and in good repair. "A belt?"

"A belt, but much more. It was given to me by my first hand to hand fighting instructor when I lived here at the palace. I was a teen younger than you. The leather has two thin wires of ceramic running the length and attached to the buckle. Without your thumbprint, the buckle will not open and nothing short of a lightsaber can cut through this particular material, but it's undetectable in scans, unlike metals such as beskar.

"The lesson she taught me was important: females are almost always smaller and weaker, and bad people will always be around looking to take advantage. Flight suits are made to be resistant to punctures, tears or cuts, so if an attacker can't get your belt off, they can't get what they want from you. You may be able to find an opening to get away. A ceramic knife is hidden here in the center of the belt at the small of your back. In addition to the knife, a lock picking tool is tucked in on the left and a scanner to detect poisons in the blood along with a small packet of charco-caps to neutralize a wide variety of poisons to the right. A full holo-recorder is hidden in the buckle with the thumbprint scanner. The memory chip will hold half a year of constant recording and the final addition is a long range homing beacon transmitter." 

Emerie's eyes grew wide. "Oh my. The belt would certainly help protect me from... inappropriate attention. What about you? If you give yours to me... what will you do?"

"I can get myself another. In fact, I'm going shopping in a few days. Durning my own short time as a TIE pilot, I saw fellow pilots harassed, bullied, and worse. I hope you won't need it, but it is better to be prepared."

Emerie nodded, "Thank you. Thank you all. I can't ever repay you. I know that."

"No need," Corran Horn told her. 

"Corran is right," Luke Skywalker agreed, his expression open and kind. "Whatever you decide to do... May the Force be with you."

Mara Jade said, "Be careful. Keep your eyes open."

The three Jedi took their leave, and that left only Tyria. She rubbed her hands together. "Let's get you some food and a shower. I will let you decide which order."  
"How long have I been asleep?"

Tyria paused, meeting her eyes, "Almost five days." 

"Five days?"

"Yes."

"You have all been healing me for five days?" 

"We took shifts, and I got to take a shift with the Princess. The Princess! Master Skywalker is teaching his sister the same lessons he teaches all his students. She asked me all about life with the Wraiths and I think she was interested in what I had to say. Lady Winter and Major Janson cooked delicious meals for everyone. They also filled your food storage unit, so you will have plenty to eat for weeks."

"I'm sorry, Tyria."

The blonde frowned, "For what?""I broke my promise to you to hold on."

Tyria leaned over and wrapped her in a hug, "I'm sorry I wasn't here when Master Skywalker found you. I spent my whole mission worried you might be suffering. And when I got the message you'd tried to end the pain..."

"Not your fault. My fault."She hugged Emerie harder. "You don't need to apologize to anyone for wanting to be free of your pain. What's most important is you were found and we healed you." Her lips brushed the shell of her ear and Emerie shivered. "Let get you showered, fix your hair and put some eye make-up on. I think the Major is still here, cleaning the food prep station and annoying your sister as she flirts with Face."

"Janson?" Emerie asked, hopefully.

"Ha, I knew it." Tyria smirked. "You do like Janson."

"No, I don't." 

"Liar." Tyria tsked at her, amused. "Can't lie to a Jedi in training. Remember?"

"Fine. Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of editing, but I'm happy with it. 
> 
> How did I do? Love it? Hate it? Off the mark? On target?


End file.
